


Game of Thrones: Tale of the Red Wolf

by SapphireKnight



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2018-04-17 14:02:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 55,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4669295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphireKnight/pseuds/SapphireKnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Torrhen Stark is the twin brother of Robb. Living in his shadow and facing an uncertain future, he suddenly finds himself in what might be the greatest adventure of his life. He will be tested in ways he cannot imagine and will have to find unknown reserves of strength to survive for, as go the words of his house, Winter is Coming...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

_Winter Is Coming_.

Those words are not a boast or a threat, but a warning. A warning to all Starks of Winterfell that darkness looms upon the horizon and that they must be ready for whatever comes out of that darkness. For eight thousand years, this warning has been given from father to son and generation to generation. From the Age of Heroes when they ruled the North as Kings of Winter to the War of Conquest when Torrhen, First of His Name, bent the knee to Aegon Targaryen to the fall of his dynasty three hundred years at the hands of Eddard, son of Rickard, who led the North in rebellion against Mad King Aerys alongside Robert Baratheon of the Stormlands who would then become King himself. Then and now, the words remain true. Even after seventeen years of peace and plenty, the winter still lingers on the horizon. Ready to envelop the world in ice, snow and darkness. One Stark will face this challenge under the most undesirable circumstances, but he must face it.

For he is Torrhen Stark, the Second of His Name, and this is his tale...


	2. Execution and Unease

The brisk wind that blew across the courtyard of Winterfell was barely noticed by Torrhen as he, along with his brothers Robb, Rickon and his half-brother Jon Snow watched his second youngest brother Brandon practice archery as his mother and father watched from the ramparts above. After Bran's latest shot had embedded itself in a nearby barrel, Torrhen watched Jon put his hands on Bran's shoulders and whisper reassurance in his ear.

"Go on. Father's watching." He paused to look back. "And your mother." Torrhen couldn't help but wince slightly at that last part but remained focused on his brother's efforts on trying to score a bulls-eye. Just as before Bran notched his arrow, drew back and let loose. Only for the arrow to sail over the target. Despite himself, Torrhen laughed as did the others until Eddard Stark's voice boomed from the ramparts above him.

"And which one of you was a marksman at ten?" Embarrassed, Torrhen admitted his father had a point. He had to work until he was at least thirteen before he could call himself a competent archer."Keep practicing, Bran. Go on." So as Bran notched another arrow and drew the string back to his cheek he and the other spectators remained quiet.

"Don't think too much, Bran." Jon advised.

"Relax your bow arm." Robb contributed.

"Take a deep breath and hold it when you draw. It'll steady your aim." Torrhen offered his own wisdom. But suddenly an arrow appeared dead center. But it wasn't Bran's as he was still holding. Turning around he saw his youngest sister Arya holding a bow. As they stood dumbstruck before exploding in laughter, Arya offered a rather sarcastic curtsy just before she took off with Bran hot on her heels.

"I think our sister is Nymeria reborn. Don't you think, Father?!" He was met with his father's warm smile before someone called him from the balcony. He, along with the others, began collecting arrows. As he turned to see Rickon handing Jon some arrows, he watched as his mother's expression darken as she looked upon the child that wasn't hers. As Jon looked up to her, Torrhen saw a look of disgust cross her face. Jon lowered his head and turned away and Torrhen felt the bile rise in his throat. Just because he didn't have the Stark name didn't make him any less a Stark. He forced himself to continue finding arrows until he heard his father call for them.

"Torrhen, Robb, Jon, saddle your horses. You too, Bran" When Torrhen was about to ask why he saw his family's weapon, the Valyrian steel greatsword Ice being handed to his father by Ser Rodrik Cassel, the Master at Arms of Winterfell. He also saw Theon Greyjoy, his father's ward, saddling his horse and he knew what was going on. Father was taking them to an execution.

"Who is it, father? Some outlaw?"

"Some out-riders caught a deserter from the Night's Watch this morning."

"Why is Bran coming, father? He's only ten."

"He won't be a boy forever, just like you and Robb. Sooner or later, you will all have to understand the responsibilities of power." Torrhen wanted to argue against it, but one look from his father silenced him. He and Robb had been the same age when they saw their first execution, and they both learned a valuable lesson. Like it or not Bran and even Rickon, when his time came, would learn the same.

(-)

When the party arrived, the outriders had already prepared the area and were holding the deserter by their horses. With a nod from Father, they brought him forward and Torrhen could see him clearly. He looked not much older than him and Robb, with blond lanky hair and pale white skin common to all men of the North. He looked thin and haggard as if he hadn't eaten anything for days and muttering about seeing...something. As he was brought before his father and the execution block, what he said next made Torrhen's breath catch in his throat.

"I know I broke my oath. I know I'm a deserter. I should have gone back to the Wall and warned them but... I saw what I saw... I saw the White Walkers." Torrhen had heard the stories of the White Walkers. Creatures made of ice that came from the Lands of Always Winter and had made war upon the Seven Kingdoms, raising the dead to hunt the living, before being driven back in the War of the Dawn and barred from returning by the Wall. But that was eight thousand years ago. They couldn't still be around, right? Obviously, the deserter thought differently. He asked his father if his family could be told that he was a coward and that he was sorry. His father, expression never changing once during his confession, signaled to the outriders holding him. Forcing him to the block, the deserter resumed his mutterings while his father drew Ice from the wolf pelt sheath held by Theon and began to speak the words of judgment.

"In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, First of his Name, King of the Andals, the First Men and the Rhoynar, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, I, Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, sentence you to die."

"Don't look away. Father will know if you do." Jon said to Bran. Torrhen wasn't told this the first time he and Robb saw, it was something he knew instinctively. Didn't stop him from vomiting behind a tree in the wolfswood when it was over. Suddenly, Eddard Stark's powerful arms swung Ice and cleaved the man's head from his body with nary a sound. Torrhen looked to Bran, and saw that he had kept his eyes open. "You did well," Jon said before turning to see to the horses. Torrhen came up to Bran and placed his hand on his shoulder with a comforting squeeze.

"It never gets easier, watching a man die. Nor should it. Remember that." He followed Jon to the horses while Robb took Bran by the shoulders and followed behind him. Later, Torrhen watched as Father gave Bran the same speech he had given him. Word for word, he thought. "Robb, what do you think of what the deserter said? About the White Walkers?"

"I don't know. It's been eight thousand years since the last time they were seen in Westeros. But even then, who knows if they really existed in the first place?"

"So you think he was lying?"

"I don't know, but you saw how he looked. It could be just the ravings of a madman. Who knows what he saw?" Admitting that Robb had a point but unable to shake a feeling of uneasiness that had come over him, he mounted his horse and with the rest of the company rode for Winterfell.


	3. Direwolves and Dark Omens

As the company moved through the wolfswood, Robb, Bran and Jon occupied themselves with racing each other while Torrhen stayed behind lost in his thoughts.

"What's troubling you, son?" Eddard's warm, rough voice briefly startled Torrhen. Quickly collecting himself, he gathered his thoughts since there was no point in trying to lie to his father.

"I can't stop thinking about what the deserter said before he died. What if he really did see the White Walkers?"

"Madmen see what they see, Torrhen. The White Walkers haven't been seen in centuries if they actually existed."

"But if they didn't exist, why did Bran the Builder raise the Wall? What was he trying to keep out?" Eddard looked a bit lost as he pondered this until he looked Torrhen straight in the eye.

"I don't know. In any case, the man had to die for deserting the Watch. Once the oath is made, it cannot be broken."

"Is that where I have to go since Robb is your heir?" Before Eddard could reply, Robb's voice could be heard further up the road near the bridge over the river. Spurring their horses, they arrived where the other boys and their guards were gathered. Dismounting, they saw what had attracted attention. A full grown stag lying on its side in the middle of the road, entrails ripped from its body and one antler jaggedly broken.

"Seven hells! What kind of animal could do this?" Torrhen exclaimed.

"A mountain lion?" Theon asked.

"No mountain lions this far north." Eddard quietly declared.

Drawing his sword, Torrhen followed a trail of blood towards the river past a large tree with Eddard in front and Robb close behind. As they passed it, their eyes widened in shock. As the rest of the party crowded behind them, their eyes fell upon the biggest wolf any of them had ever seen. It was lying on its side, tongue lolling out with a piece of antler lodged in its throat. Six pups were cuddled in the remaining warmth of their late mother's belly.

"Father, that's a Direwolf," Torrhen said breathlessly, amazed at the sight of an animal that he had only seen in the pages of old books before today. Eddard pulled the antler out of its throat and looked at it in awe.

"Tough old beast." He exclaimed before tossing it aside.

"There are no direwolves south of the Wall," Robb said as Torrhen slowly ran his hand across the fur of the fallen beast.

"At least not for two hundred years," Eddard added almost unconsciously.

"Now there are six," Jon said.

"She must have held on long enough to whelp. Poor creature." Torrhen said as he looked the furry little newborns. Jon picked one up and handed it to Bran, with his eyes lighting up as the pup mewled in his arms.

"They don't belong down here." Ser Rodrik added, to which Eddard nodded in agreement.

"Better a quick death. Without their mother, they won't survive." In response, Theon drew his dagger.

"Give him here, Bran." He pulled the pup from Bran's arms, ready to cut its throat. Bran cried out in horror and Torrhen sprang up, ready to strike Theon, but restrained himself in time.

"Put away your blade," Robb said in his best commanding tone.

"I take orders from your father, not you." Theon countered.

"Father, please!" Bran pleaded, having fallen in love with the pup. But Eddard would not be swayed.

"I'm sorry, Bran. But it's for the best." But the saving grace came from Jon.

"My lord, there are six pups here; Four male and two female. You have six children; four sons and two daughters, and the Direwolf is the sigil of your house. They were meant to have them."

"I agree with Jon, Father." Torrhen called out but at the same time, he wondered why he said six instead of seven. Then suddenly, a cold feeling crept into his heart. As this feeling grew, he saw his father debating in his head the merit of the pups. Finally, he came to his decision.

"You'll train them yourselves, feed them yourselves and, if they die, bury them yourselves." With this, he marched back up to the road while the boys began to pick up the pups. Bran took the one Theon took back and Jon handed two to Robb and two to Theon after he had sheathed his dagger. Torrhen took one that was all black, but his eyes were red as blood. As he looked in his eyes, he felt something pass between them; they were joined by an unknown but unbreakable bond, and one would never abandon the other. No matter what. Suddenly, he was shaken from his trance by Bran asking Jon why he didn't have his own pup. What he said next broke his heart.

"I'm not a Stark."

'Yes you are, Jon. Gods damn you, you are one of us!' Torrhen screamed in his head. Why did his brother think so little of himself? He wanted to give him his pup, but something held him back. Perhaps it was this new bond between them. So, with a sigh, he started with the rest of the group back up to the road. But then he and Jon both heard whimpering from a nearby bush. Jon, curiosity peaked, walked over. He knelt, reached inside, and drew out a wolf pup with fur as white as freshly fallen snow and the same blood red eyes.

"It's an albino. The runt of the litter." Robb commented.

"That one's yours, Snow." Theon added, with a smug grin.

"Now don't be so jealous, Greyjoy. I'm sure if we looked in the river hard enough, we could find you a little squid to play with." That shut up Theon quickly, and he walked off before he made a further fool of himself. Robb grinned before following him.

"A pup of your own. You know what this means, Jon?" Jon looked at him quizzically and Torrhen grinned.

"It means you _are_ a Stark."

(-)

As Torrhen practiced his swordplay on a well-used training dummy in the courtyard while his direwolf pup, which he had named Rhaegar after the Targaryen prince and his personal hero, watched him he let his mind wander to the events of the last few days. He thought of the stag and the direwolf, the pups, and the reactions of his siblings to them. Arya, Sansa and Rickon had fallen love with them at first sight when they had returned home, The names they gave to them seem to fit; Nymeria for Arya, Lady for Sansa, and Shaggydog, rather oddly, for Rickon. Bran had named his Summer, while Robb chose Grey Wind and Jon chose Ghost, for both his appearance and the fact that he never made a sound. Mother, of course, had been understandably unsettled by them. She had heard tales of direwolves, full grown, being as big as horses. For some reason, Torrhen liked the idea of having a pet as big as he was. Taking a few more practice swings, he decided it was time for a rest. Taking a seat beside Rhaegar he scratched behind his ears while he drank deeply from his waterskin. Rhaegar made mewling noises and licked at Torrhen's hand, which made his smile widen. Suddenly, he saw his mother emerge from Maester Luwin's tower with a scroll held tightly in her hands. The look in her eyes made Torrhen uneasy, as it brought his thoughts back to the stag and Rhaegar's mother. Impulsively, he stood and made his way toward his mother with Rhaegar close behind.

"Mother, do you have a moment?"

"Of course. I was just delivering a message to your father." As she said this Torrhen noticed the broken seal on the scroll. A single hand, emerging from a crown, facing palm out with the crescent moon and falcon of House Arryn inside the palm. The sigil of the Hand of the King, Jon Arryn. "What is on your mind?"

"I've been thinking about what I saw on the day we found Rhaegar and his siblings. Something about it is...troubling me." Catelyn looked him in the eye.

"What about it?"

"Well, the direwolf is the sigil of House Stark and the stag is the sigil of House Baratheon. The direwolf traveled south of the Wall and it and the stag fought each other. The stag died alone while the direwolf died, leaving its pups to fend for themselves. The whole situation seemed too...convenient. I can't help thinking that..." He trailed off, unable to find the right words to explain it.

'What do you think?" Suddenly, it came to him.

"What if it's a sign of things to come?" While silent, her face showed agreement.

"I don't know. Your father doesn't believe in signs, but I can't help but also feel that...there is a great change coming." At this, she and Torrhen both looked at the scroll in her hands. "I should go. Not wise to keep your father waiting." After brushing his cheek she turned toward the godswood leaving Torrhen to pick up Rhaegar in his arms and hold him tightly, silently praying that all would be well yet knowing deep down that nothing would ever be the same.


	4. Anxiety and New Arrivals

Over the next several days the news spread like wildfire: Jon Arryn was dead. The Hand of King who ruled the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros for seventeen years while King Robert had drank and wenched his days away had passed away during the night. And now the King and his entourage was coming north to Winterfell. That could only mean one thing.

"He's going to name our father Hand of the King. Why else would he come?"

"He could be coming for anything! Maybe he just wants to see Father." Robb said and Torrhen had to restrain himself from cuffing his brother upside the head, instead returning to feeding the ravens. He may be the heir to Winterfell, but by the gods he could be so stupid!

"Robb, don't you think it's too convenient that days after Lord Jon dies, nearly the entire court packs up and leaves King's Landing to come here?! This isn't just a social visit between old friends. Our father will be named Hand, I'm sure of it." He looked out the window to the south with a grimace, wishing he could somehow...make the King not come.

"Alright. If he's named Hand, what then?"

"Nothing good. Our father belongs here, not in that cesspool of a city."

"You're calling the greatest city in Westeros a cesspool?" Robb looked shocked at Torrhen's insult of the capital.

From what I've heard of it from merchants coming north, yes. I heard it smells of shit and corpses everyday, not to mention that in the court of Robert Baratheon, loyalties change as rapidly as fashions. Do you think our father, a man who sees the world in black and white, would last two days there?" Robb couldn't think of a response. "Precisely. We Starks don't belong down there, not in that snake pit." A cold wind blew through the window, causing all the ravens to squawk as if the gods were agreeing with him.

"Alright, brother. You may have a point. But more importantly, what's gotten into you? These last few days you've been so distant. Arya, Bran, and even Jon are asking and I don't have an answer." Throwing the last raven his dinner before setting down the basket, Torrhen sighed and turned to face Robb.

"Neither do I, Robb. But I've had this feeling ever since the day we found the wolves. It's like...a block of ice in the pit of my stomach. Something bad is coming and I don't know what it is or when or why. I just know that once it comes, nothing will ever be the same." He would have said more, but Maester Luwin's rapping on the door immediately changed the subject.

"Ah, there you are. Your mother's looking for you. She says it's time for supper. Speaking of which, I'm grateful that you've given my ravens theirs."

"Anything we can do to help, Maester." Torrhen said, despite the fact that he had been doing all the feeding while Robb had been doing most of the talking. "By the way, are there any updates on the King's progress?"

"Proceeding steadily north and arriving tomorrow."

"Well, I guess we'll be off then." With a short bow to Luwin, he and Robb set off to the Great Keep. As they crossed the courtyard, Torrhen slowed his pace to look at everything. Mikken laboring at his forge, Hodor shoveling straw, Farlen tending to the hounds while his daughter Palla brought him supper, and Jory Cassel and his cousin Beth talking and laughing. He looked long and hard, committing it all to memory before his resume his walk to supper.

(-)

It had finally come, the long awaited day. The King was coming to Winterfell, and chaos reigned. Even now, Lady Catelyn was still ordering servants around trying to make everything perfect for their guests. While this was happening, Robb, Torrhen, Jon and Theon were getting shaved.

"Why is your mother so dead-set on us getting pretty for the King?" Torrhen smirked: Jon hated getting groomed.

"It's for the Queen, I bet. I hear she's a sleek bit of meat." Theon said.

"I heard the Prince is a right royal prick." Robb said as Tommy rubbed his cheeks, checking to see if any whiskers missed his blade.

"Think of all the southern girls he gets to stab with his right royal prick."

"Honestly Theon, is there a single thought in your head that doesn't involve women?!" Both Robb and Jon laughed and Theon's cheeks reddened while Torrhen continued. "As long as the good prince Joffrey doesn't try stabbing any northern girls, one in particular, I'm sure he'll leave the North will all his teeth in his head." The others nodded as Tommy slapped Robb's face to let him know that his work was done and Jon's turn was next.

"Shear him good, Tommy. There isn't a girl Jon likes more than his own hair." The boys laughed while Jon groaned.

"I'm going to miss this."

"What? Getting groomed?" Robb asked, sarcastically.

"No, this." Torrhen declared. "The four of us talking, laughing. Before we know it, years will pass and we will all be...somewhere else. With families and responsibilities of our own. But these are the moments when you wish time would stop and you could live in those moments forever." He paused while the others thought about his words. "I suppose our father had moments like this as well. When he and the King were wards of House Arryn. Before Grandfather and Uncle Brandon were murdered and the Rebellion brought the Targaryen's to ruin."

"I suppose they did." Robb said.

"Well let's hope that nothing that eventful happens to the four of us." Theon chimed in.

"Yes, let's hope so." Torrhen agreed but as he watched Jon's hair fall away in clumps, he had to accept that particular hope was one that would be dashed and quite violently, too.

(-)

As much as he hated to, he had to leave Rhaegar in his room. Lucky for him, he had a whole chicken to keep him busy. Yes it would be one less chicken at the feast tonight but, according to the rumors, he doubted King Robert would even notice. But that didn't change the desire to have him close, if only to help him relax as he, the family and the entire population of Winterfell stood waiting in the courtyard for the King's company to arrive. Luckily, Mother broke the tension looking up and down the line.

"Where's Arya? Sansa, where's your sister?" As Sansa shrugged, Torrhen had to bite back a grin. He had seen his youngest sister ducking out the main gate earlier to watch the procession wearing a guardsman's helmet for reasons of whimsy and...neglected to inform his mother. Suddenly, she came bounding in out of breath. Father took her helmet and told her to join the line while Torrhen, Jon and Robb all grinned their youngest sister's antics. As she made her way to her place Torrhen patted her hair and she slapped his leg before shoving Bran aside. Father handed the helmet to Ser Rodrik and order was restored just as the first members of the royal party entered the main gate. First came a member of the Kingsguard, followed by Prince Joffrey Baratheon and a huge man in armor who helmet was shaped like an angry dog with fangs bared. As he raised his visor, Torrhen recognized the man: Sandor Clegane, the Hound. Both he and Robb saw Sansa lock eyes with the Prince, and he felt an unexplainable, but instant revulsion for him. Then, a huge wheelhouse came through the gate pulled by a team of magnificent black horses and following it, escorted by two Kingsguards, was the King. The entire courtyard went to one knee and bowed their heads, which was good for Torrhen so no one would see his eyes widen. This was Robert Baratheon, the Demon of the Trident, the man who could use with one hand a warhammer that even his father could barely lift? The man who raised a rebellion and killed Rhaegar Taragryen at the Trident? Who led six of the Seven Kingdoms against the Iron Islands and won? He looked like the horse underneath him could barely hold his weight. He had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing as two servants held his horse while a third brought a stepping block and then watching him dismount. Yet when his feet touched ground, he carried himself well as he strode toward father. Even with all the extra fat, he was still a warrior. Standing before them, he silently gestured for father to rise. As he did so, the entire courtyard followed him.

"Your Grace." His strong quiet voice could barely mask his intimidation in the presence of his friend and King. For what seemed like an eternity the two men stared at each other while Torrhen looked on. Suddenly, the silence was broken by the one phrase Torrhen didn't see coming from the King.

"You've got fat." He was biting his tongue so hard to keep from laughing as his father's eyes gestured as if to say "look who's talking". Suddenly the two men laughed and embraced each other warmly while Torrhen had released a breath he hadn't known he was holding. He saw Robert embrace his mother and give Rickon's groomed hair a good rub, before returning to his father.

"Nine years. Why haven't I seen you? Where the hell have you been?"

"Guarding the North, your Grace. Winterfell is yours." Torrhen grinned as he watched the King's belly shake as he chuckled, accepting his friends pledge of loyalty. Suddenly his eyes were drawn to the two children emerging from the wheelhouse behind the line of servants. The first was a young girl with long golden hair followed by a younger boy.

"Those must be Myrcella and Tommen, Joffrey's younger siblings." Torrhen whispered to Robb as following them was none other than Queen Cersei. Along with everyone else, Torrhen couldn't deny that she was lovely with her long flowing hair, well-formed face and elegant dress. But Torrhen also saw something in her eyes; a coldness that detracted from her beauty and made it uncomfortable to look at her for too long. Luckily, Arya's inquisitive nature broke the ice by asking "Where's the Imp?" before Sansa told her to shut up. She of course was referring to Tyrion Lannister, the Queen's youngest brother. Born a dwarf, he was often times the subject of jokes and ridicule at Winterfell but Torrhen had heard of his formidable intellect and was looking forward to sharing books with him.

"Now, what have we here?" The King was standing in front of Robb, almost examining him."You must be Robb." After a nod and a handshake, he cast his eye on Torrhen whose hand he too enveloped in a strong, confident grip. "And you must be the other twin. Torrhen, is it?"

"Yes, your Grace. Welcome to Winterfell." Torrhen tried to keep his voice calm and even.

"I've heard you are quite the reader."

"I've read a few books. Do you read, your Grace?" At this, the King unleashed a deep belly laugh.

"Do I look smart enough to read to you?" As Torrhen struggled to find an appropriate answer, Robert spared him by raising his hand. "Don't answer that." He moved on while Torrhen got his breath back. A reassuring nod from his father relaxed him. Robert spoke to Sansa, complimenting her looks, then to Arya, examining her face as if looking for something in particular, and then Bran who flexed what muscles he had, to which Robert declared he would be a soldier. Torrhen smiled at this, as he knew well his brothers desire to one day join the ranks of the Kingsguard. He would never be the biggest, but he would be the quickest. As the Queen came forward to receive Father's homage, he couldn't help but keep noticing her eyes. They looked full of disdain for her surroundings, as if Winterfell and its occupants were unworthy of her presence. Even as she politely smiled as she offered her hand to father, who kissed it in fealty, he could see her slightly grimace. He then saw one of the Kingsguards remove his helmet and knew immediately who he was: Jamie Lannister, the Queen's twin brother and known throughout the Seven Kingdoms as the Kingslayer, a title he earned seventeen years ago during the Sack of King's Landing when he ran his sword through the Mad King's back right in front of the Iron Throne. Arya commented on that, which earned her another rebuke from Sansa.

"Ned, take me to your crypt. I want to pay my respects." Torrhen knew exactly to whom he wanted to pay respects to, so did the Queen.

"We've been on the road for a month, my love. Surely the dead can wait." But the Queen's words would not convince him otherwise. He and father ventured into the crypts while Arya asked once again where Lord Tyrion was. Torrhen saw the Queen's eye twitch as she wheeled around and marched to her brother, telling him to find their little beast of a brother. Suddenly, an opportunity dawned on him and he turned the large man standing beside Bran.

"Hodor, fetch my horse. Quickly now!"

"Hodor." Hodor marched off quickly as Robb and his mother looked at him with a mixture of confusion and shock.

"What are you doing, son?"

"I've always wanted to meet Tyrion Lannister. Now seems a good time as any." As Ser Jamie returned to his horse Hodor brought out Swiftwind, Torrhen's trusted steed for almost three years. He took the reins from Hodor, thanking him, and walked over to Ser Jamie. "Ser Jamie, if you're going looking for your brother may I have the pleasure of accompanying you?" The Kingslayer looked at him for a moment and then mounted his horse. For a moment, Torrhen thought he was refusing.

"Try and keep up." Torrhen smiled and swung gracefully into Swiftwind's saddle. As he followed Ser Jamie out the main gate, nodding curtly to Prince Joffrey, he heard his mother call out to him.

"Be careful!"

"I will, Mother, and we'll be back before sundown! I promise." Kicking his flanks, he set Swiftwind at a steady pace as he and the Kingslayer raced down the road.

(-)

Arriving at the small brothel in the town on the outskirts of Winterfell, the two men dismounted and tied their horses up.

"I'll see where he is, Ser Jamie." Torrhen said as he made his way to the innkeeper, who was sitting outside with a pipe in his mouth enjoying the brisk weather, while Jamie made his way over to a group of ladies who were obviously prostitutes. Upon seeing Torrhen, he rose and bowed his head.

"Good day to you, Lord Torrhen."

"And to you, good sir. My companion and I are looking for a man who has been staying here. Golden hair, green eyes, shorter than most men. Does this sound familiar?"

Ah, the dwarf! He's still here, and paid well for the privilege. Second floor, last door on the right. He's got Ros in there with him, so you might want to knock first."

"I will keep that in mind. Thank you." He returned to Jamie who was accompanied by three ladies dressed rather scarcely.

"Friends of yours? I thought the Kingsguard took vows of celibacy."

"We do. These ladies are...just in case."

"Understood. Anyway, the innkeeper said he's on the second floor, last door on the right. He also said he has company."

"No surprise there." As the party made their way upstairs, Torrhen could feel the eyes of the ladies on him. He turned his head to look at them, batting their eyes and quietly giggling, and immediately turned away so they wouldn't see him blush. He knew about men and women and what they did to make babies, but he had never even seen a woman naked before. Then, before he knew it, they were standing outside the door.

"Ladies, wait here." Jamie said just before he opened the door and strode in with all the confidence of an older brother, followed by Torrhen. They found him underneath a particularly lovely woman, who must have been Ros, wearing nothing but a belt and a smile. Almost immediately Torrhen lowered his head in an attempt to avoid staring. But Jamie did no such thing. "Don't get up."

"Should I explain the meaning of closed door in a whorehouse, brother?"

"You have much to teach me, no doubt. But our sister craves your attention." He closed the door behind Torrhen and made his way to a nearby table with a pitcher of wine and two tankards, both of which he filled and one of which he handed to Torrhen.

"She has our cravings, our sister." Tyrion said with a fair dose of sarcasm while Ros cuddled and gave Torrhen a saucy wink. Torrhen quickly buried his face in the tankard, drinking deeply.

"A family trait." Then, as if just remembering, he motioned to Torrhen. "Torrhen Stark, Tyrion Lannister, my brother. Tyrion, this is Ned Stark's son, Torrhen." Torrhen bowed respectively while Jamie drained his tankard.

"At your service, my lord. Welcome to the North."

"You are most kind, Lord Torrhen. I've heard you're quite the scholar, a far cry from the typical Northerner."

"Thank you, my lord. I've heard the same about you, among other things." Tyrion grinned, idly stroking Ros's arm.

"I'm sure you have." Torrhen smiled and their conversation would have continued had time not been against them.

"Forgive me for my interruption, but the Starks will be feasting us at sundown. You'll be expected there." Jamie said, with an almost pleading tone. But Tyrion would not be so easily

"I'm sorry, but I've started the feast a bit early." Tyrion grinned, pointing to Ros. "And this is the first of many courses." Torrhen's eyes went wide at this.

"Pardon me, my lord, but how many women do you intend to...be with?" The look on Tyrion's indicated that this statement was a sort of challenge.

"As many as I can before the Stranger comes to call." Before Torrhen could reply Jamie was forced to intervene once again, walking toward the door.

"I thought you would say that. But since we're short on time..." Opening the door, he called to the three ladies waiting outside. "Come on girls." Laughing merrily they bounded into the room shedding their scarce clothing, mounting the bed like wolves about to feast on a flock of sheep. "Come along, Torrhen." He pulled him out by the arm, struck dumb by the sight before him. "See you at sundown."

"Close the door!" Tyrion called to them. Torrhen regained his senses and shut the door quickly, leaving his empty tankard on a nearby chair. As they made their way to their horses, Torrhen was still amazed by the behavior of Jamie's brother.

"So what do you think of my brother, Torrhen?" Struggling for a moment to find the right words as he mounted Swiftwind, he settled with saying the first thing that came to mind.

"He's...everything I imagined. And more."

"You seem to approve." At this Torrhen grinned.

"I do." With that the two men rode for Winterfell.


	5. Foreboding and Friendships

The feast was quite a spectacle. Food entered the Great Hall in an almost unending procession and wine  flowed like the Trident at high tide. The music and the guests voices fought constantly to drown each other out. The royal party and the Starks sat together at one end of the hall, eating and drinking with the utmost courtesy, while the rest of Winterfell crowded below them stuffing their faces and drowning in wine. King Robert was among them, of course, with all his customary good humor and roguish charm. Torrhen, from his seat next to Robb whom he had reminded was right about their father being named the new Hand, watched as he groped one of the serving girls and gave her a rather serious kiss. Looking back to the Queen, he saw her barely concealed disgust at her husband's antics. Surprisingly, Torrhen found himself agreeing with her. He remembered a story of how he bedded every whore while hiding in a brothel in the town of Stoney Sept after the Battle of Ashford. Torrhen laughed when he heard the story, thinking that if it wasn't a blade that would kill him it would probably be something he caught from too much fucking. Starting to feel his legs cramping and his stomach hurting he rose and, with a courteous bow to the Queen and to his mother and a summoning whistle to Rhaegar, made his way through the hall to the door. Passing by his father, he felt his hand on his shoulder.

“You alright, son?”

“I'm fine. Just need some air, and...”

“And what?”

“Someone should see how Jon's doing.” Ned grimaced but it wasn't out of disdain, rather out of despair over the abandonment of one of his children to the cold simply to avoid insulting the Royal family. After a moment, he squeezed Torrhen's shoulder affectionately and knelt to scratch behind Rhaegar's ears.

“Well, go on.” With a nod he made his way out, letting the cold air wash over him. It felt..comforting. He heard the ring of steel as he entered the courtyard. 'Jon must be practicing.' His assumption proved correct as he saw Jon wailing away at the training dummy, going through the motions exactly as Ser Rodrik had trained all the boys. Deciding to watch, he moved into the shadows. Suddenly he heard hooves clattering in the courtyard as a man-at-arms ran up to take the reins of the horse that had just arrived from its rider, who was clad in solid black. A man of the Night's Watch who looked familiar.

“Is he dead yet?” The voice brought his memory back. It was Uncle Benjen! His father's younger brother who had taken the Black after the Rebellion. He watched him and Jon embrace and talk and couldn't help but smile. Uncle Benjen was one of the few people who didn't look down on Jon because he was a bastard, probably because the Night's Watch welcomed all into their ranks. Princes and paupers alike took the Black and served alongside each other on the Wall. But Jon couldn't be thinking about joining them...could he? As they parted company and Benjen made his way inside, a chill slowly crept through him.

He was going to lose his brother to the Watch.

“Oh gods, why?” Torrhen whispered to himself and Rhaegar quietly whimpered, sensing his anxiety.  

Suddenly, he saw Tyrion Lannister enter the courtyard carrying a wineskin and engage Jon in conversation. He saw Jon prickle as Tyrion blatantly reminded him of his relationship with his father and his father's wife. Growing up, he and Robb never really cared about Jon being only their half-brother; to them he was their brother and that was that. Which made their mother's dislike of him so hard to understand. He was about to walk out and defend his brother when suddenly Tyrion said something that startled him.

“Let me give you some advice, bastard. Never forget what you are. The rest of the world certainly won't. Wear it like armor, and it can never be used to hurt you again.” For some reason, this made sense to him as he watched him turn and make his way to the feast.

“What the hell do you know about being a bastard?!” Jon shouted defensively to Tyrion's back. Without missing a beat, Tyrion turned and looked right into Jon's eyes.

“All dwarfs are bastards in their father's eyes.” As he turned and walked away, Jon returned to his practicing. Torrhen chose now to emerge from the shadows.

“You hit any harder, you won't leave anything for the rest of us.” He said as Jon continued his exercises.  

“I have to do something to occupy myself while the rest of you enjoy yourselves.”

“Do I look like I'm enjoying myself? I'm sitting in there, bored out of my mind, and you're out here freezing your ass off.”

“It's what your mother wanted.”

“And is taking the Black what she wants?” At this Jon swung so hard he snapped the head of the dummy clean off. “I'm sorry. That was uncalled for.”

“Maybe it's what I want, dammit! Maybe I want to be something more that Ned Stark's bastard! The Night's Watch doesn't care where you're from or what you are...”

“Neither do I! You're my brother, Jon, and that's all that matters.”  

“I don't need your pity!”

“Does it sound like I'm pitying you?!” Torrhen roared while grabbing Jon by the shoulders. “I'm trying to remind you that there are people in this world who love you, and those people are right here. Bran, Arya, Robb and me all give a damn about you!”

“And what about Father? Does he give a damn?”

“You know he does, and he would show it more if Mother wasn't so...watchful.” Despite their love, Torrhen knew that she had never forgiven his father for not only having a bastard son and acknowledging him but bringing him home and raising among her trueborn children.

“Exactly. Once he leaves for King's Landing, she'll throw me out in the cold regardless of what Robb wants.”

“Then let's leave.” Jon was confused at this.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean let's leave. Tonight. Take a couple horses and some provisions and just go while everyone is busy.”

“Where would we go?”

“Who cares? We'll pick a direction and just go. We could travel to the Reach, or Dorne. We could even go to the Free Cities.” He began using wild gestures to convey his growing excitement at this idea. “Pentos, Myr, Braavos! Think of all we could see and do! We could even take a ship and sail to Old Valyria. We could see the ruins, find Valyrian steel swords, and who knows? We could even find dragon eggs! In a years time, we could return to Winterfell as rich as kings. We could buy the North from the Iron Throne. They'll be singing songs of our deeds as long as men have voices to sing!” At this point the idea seemed so damned silly, both he and Jon were laughing at it. When they calmed down, neither one spoke until Torrhen worked up the courage. “So what do you think?”

“It's...ambitious. But I can't do it.”

“Why not?!”

“I just can't, Torrhen.” He walked off before Torrhen could say anymore. As he disappeared into the castle, Torrhen leaned against the railing and slid to the ground while Rhaegar tried to cheer him up by licking his fingers.

“Such love and devotion. If only my family was capable of that.” Torrhen turned to see Tyrion Lannister leaning against a wall, wineskin still in hand..

“How long have you been there, my lord?”

“Long enough to see the love you have for him. Makes me rather envious.”

“You don't have the same with your siblings?” Tyrion chuckled in response before taking another swig of wine.

“Let me put it this way. If I was on fire, and my sister had a cup of water, she would drink it and piss in the other direction. My father might do the same.” The mental image made the two men laugh. “My brother would at least make the excuse that the heat made him thirsty.” The laughter continued as Tyrion joined him on the ground.

“What would your mother say to that?”

“My mother died giving birth to me. An act which I had no control over and for which my father and sister have never forgiven me.”

“My mother's mother died on the birthing bed as well, along with an uncle who died in infancy.”

“What of your father's mother?”

“She died of grief after ravens came to Winterfell from King's Landing announcing my grandfather and uncle's execution. My father never saw her again after he left for the Eyrie.” After that, they sat in silence for a moment. Nothing but the wind could be heard.

“May I offer some advice?” Torrhen nodded in acceptance. “If you love your brother, then you must respect his decision. If he feels that his place is with the Watch then you cannot stand in his way. But at least, you can remind him that he is not alone.” Despite his continued reservations, Torrhen couldn't help but admit that he was right. If Jon thought he could do the most good on the Wall, then it was his duty as a brother to support his decision.  

“I will. Thank you.” Silence once again passed between them. “Should we return to the feast?”

“To my lecherous drunkard of a brother-in-law, the withering stares of my sister, and the desperate attempts of your mother to make small-talk? What do you think?” Tyrion asked with a deadpan expression as he held the wineskin in front of Torrhen. Torrhen answered by taking the skin and drinking deeply. “I thought so.” The rest of the night passed rather quickly as the two men drank, talked of their favorite books of which they shared several, laughed, drank more, pissed and vomited together before passing out leaning on each other in the dog kennels, having established a respect for each other.

(-)

_As snow fell softly with a gentle wind whistling through the wolfswood, Torrhen crept between the trees as he stalked a large deer foraging through the snow. He forced himself to judge the weight of each step as the snow masked all foliage beneath and the crack of one tree branch would ruin the entire hunt. Once he found a spot he set himself into the correct posture, drew in his breath as he drew back his bowstring and offered a silent prayer to the Gods of the Forest that not only would his arrow hit but that it would be a clean kill. He also promised that the animal would be treated with the utmost respect as befitting a creature of the forest. Suddenly, the animal jumped and bolted and before Torrhen could recover from the shock it was gone. Biting back a string of curses, he whipped his head around trying to find who or whatever cause his prey to bolt. Suddenly, he saw a cloaked and hooded figure moving through the wood. Giving chase, he nimbly wove through the trees. He managed to gain on his quarry when the forest opened into what appeared to resemble the Godswood at Winterfell when the figure turned around and gave him a look that stopped him cold. Grey eyes stared back into his as the figure lifted the hood and revealed a face that Torrhen had never seen but somehow recognized instantly. A long face underneath a crown of blue winter roses and jet black hair._

__

_“Aunt Lyanna.” His voice was only a whisper, but she must have heard because she smiled widely._

__

_“You look just like him, my dear nephew. Just like my sweet Ned.” At this, tears flowed freely from Torrhen's face. He couldn't contain the rush of emotions looking upon a woman of such indescribable beauty who came from his own family. This was the woman whose beauty and passion had enthralled Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and set in motion the events that led to Robert's Rebellion._

__

_“Am I dreaming?”_

__

_“Yes, my sweet Torrhen. I have been dead and gone for many years. But you are young and have your whole life ahead of you.” She walked towards him and pressed her hand to his cheek. Surprisingly, her hand was quite warm. “My time is over, as is his. Right, beloved?” Suddenly, another cloaked figure emerged from behind the heart tree and joined Lyanna. Revealing the face beneath their hood, Torrhen felt all breath leave his body and all strength leaves his legs._

__

_“My prince.” Standing alongside his Aunt was Rhaegar Targaryen, the last Prince of Dragonstone. His hero, his idol. The King who never was. The man whose love for Lyanna Stark had brought about the overthrow of the Taragryen dynasty. He bowed his head reverently until Rhaegar grabbed his shoulders and pulled him up into a standing position._

__

_“No need, my friend. There are no titles among the dead.” Torrhen was at a complete loss at the sound of his voice, especially when the voice called him 'friend'._

__

_“I...I have so many questions.”_

__

_“I wish we could answer them, but our time is short. You must return to the living world soon.” Rhaegar said with sadness and resignation in his voice._

__

_“No! I don't want to go!” Torrhen cried out, frantically._

__

_“I know, but it is not yet your time. When you are old and gray, when all the battles are over and all the struggles have passed. When your children are grown and have children of their own. Then you will join us, following the Stranger's song.”_

__

_“If so, then why am I here now?”_

__

_“Because we have to warn you. Winter is coming, for you and your family. Your friends will become enemies and your honor will be challenged. You will find love, lose it and regain it stronger than before. You will pass through both ice and fire before the end and you will not be the same man you were in the beginning.” Rhaegar's cryptic warning left Torrhen confused, despite listening with rapt attention._

__

_“What do you mean?” Rhaegar smirked while Lyanna stepped forward and took Torrhen's face in her hands._

__

_“You will have to find out for yourself, my dear.” With a kiss on his forehead she turned and walked away from Torrhen, taking Rhaegar's hand in hers._

__

_“Wait! I have one question. They say you were kidnapped by Rhaegar. Is that true?” With one look between them, Torrhen knew the answer before Rhaegar said it as they turned toward him._

__

_“No, Torrhen. I did not kidnap your aunt. In fact, she was the kidnapper” He brushed hair from her face. “She kidnapped my heart, and I have never wished for it back.” Suddenly, Torrhen felt very drowsy and struggled to keep his feet. “It's time to go now. Farewell, Torrhen Stark of Winterfell. I hope we meet again. But not too soon.” Torrhen, his strength leaving him completely, fell to the snowy ground and was claimed by darkness._

(-)

Torrhen was awoken by the wet slobber of one the wolfhounds. Pushing the dog aside, he forced himself up on shaky legs. Despite the drums pounding in his skull, he managed to keep his eyes open and observe the bustle of the courtyard.

“You alright?” Torrhen winced painfully at the nearby sound. He turned to see Tyrion Lannister leaning on a post, holding a cup of water. “You look quite hungover, it seems. First time?”

“Not so loud.” Torrhen staggered to the gate, almost falling over as he pushed it open. He staggered toward a nearby barrel of water and, stripping off his shirt, plunged his head in. Seconds later, he emerged in a spray of water and a roar. Plunging his head in a second time to be sure, he emerged and grabbed a nearby rag. “Gods, I feel awful.”

“So was I the first time I woke from a long night of drinking. You never forget your first hangover. It's quite a learning experience.” He handed the cup to Torrhen, who gratefully grabbed it.

“It seems I had a good teacher.” He took a sip, rinsed his mouth of whatever was left over from last night, and spat it out. Returning the cup to Tyrion he grabbed his shirt from the ground and made his way toward his room, looking forward to sleeping under some decent sheets.

“Going to bed so soon? I was hoping you would join me on a hunt.”

“You hunt?”

“Not really. Your father and the King are going out and, perhaps I'm mad for saying this, I feel like joining them. I could use your company, as a fellow intellectual, to pass the time.”

It took a moment to ponder, but in the end he decided getting some fresh air would do him a world of good.

“Well then, Lord Tyrion, I accept your most gracious offer. I will change and prepare myself.” With a courteous bow, he made his way to his quarters after calling to Hodor to ready Swiftwind for a ride.

(-)

Emerging in the courtyard a few minutes later, with sword at his hip and quiver on his back, he saw his father and the King on horseback along with Tyrion, Sandor Clegane and several others. Swiftwind was saddled and ready, which reminded Torrhen to do something nice for Hodor. Grabbing his favorite bow, he mounted and joined the party.

“I'm surprised that you would be even trying to hunt, my lord.” Sandor exclaimed, to which Tyrion only laughed.

“I'll have you know, my good dog, that you are looking at the finest hunter in Westeros. My spear has never missed!”

“It's not hunting if you have to pay for it.” Torrhen laughed at this.

“Ah! I'm so glad you could join us, Torrhen. Now thought provoking conversation will commence!”

“I'm glad I can be of assistance. Clegane, would you allow Lord Tyrion and I a few moments alone? I promise I'll keep him out of trouble.” With a nod, Sandor rode on ahead.

“Isn't he wonderful, my nephew's bodyguard?” The sarcasm in Tyrion's voice was quite palpable.  

“He's not too bad. Once you get past the burns, of course.”

“Of course. I heard that his bedding caught fire when he was a child. Poor boy.” Torrhen noticed that there was something in his voice which suggested that wasn't the whole truth. But that was a question for another time.

“Where's your nephew, by the way? Doesn't he want to join us?” As he asked, the company began moving out.

“Joffrey hunting? That would be a sight to see. No, I believe he's sparring with your brother. Probably making an idiot of himself, one can only hope.”

“A treasonous statement if ever I heard one. But fear not my lord, for I too share such sentiments.” A short laugh broke out between them with silence following.

“Last night, I had a dream.” Tyrion's eyebrows jumped at this.

“Oh really? Anything in particular?” Torrhen pulled back on Swiftwind's reins, slowing him down. Tyrion took the hint and slowed his horse down as well.

“As a matter of fact, yes. I saw my Aunt Lyanna and...Rhaegar Targaryen. I saw them in the godswood here. They were together, and they told me things. Things about my future and who I would have to become.”

“Really?! How fascinating. And how did they look together?”

**  
**“They looked...happy. Very happy.” His smile grew wider as he nudged Swiftwind's flanks, bringing him to a canter with Tyrion in close pursuit. They rejoined the party and spent the rest of the day talking and laughing. Torrhen did his part in the hunt and brought down a small deer, to Robert's delight and Ned's approval. On the way home, he and Tyrion continued talking and laughing with Torrhen promising to give Tyrion at least half the credit for his kill. And as the towers of Winterfell came into view Torrhen smiled, thinking that today had been a very good day.


	6. Important Decisions and New Experiences

“How in the Seven Hells did this happen?!” Torrhen screamed at Robb outside of Bran's room. After the hunting party had returned to Winterfell the mood had changed from carefree to deathly serious in half a heartbeat when Robb had met them and told Father and Torrhen to follow him to Bran's room. They arrived to see Maester Luwin and Mother standing over Bran's body. Torrhen saw he was still breathing, which was fortunate sign. But his eyes were closed and he was completely still, not reacting to anything Mother or Maester Luwin were doing. In shock, he dragged Robb out the room and all but slammed the door behind him.

“According to Mother, the guards found him outside at the base of the Broken Tower. The best guess to what happened is that he fell.”

“Bran falling? Robb, you know as well as I do that Bran could climb a wall of glass! He's never fallen!”

“But he did, so here we are now. Mother refuses to leave his side, no matter what.” Torrhen's mouth opened and closed, unable to form words until all he could was punch a nearby wall and storm off down the hall. Entering his room, he found Rhaegar patiently waiting for him on his bed. Scratching behind his ear, he sat down next to him. Sensing his pain, Rhaegar nuzzled his chin.

“I'm alright, boy. Bran's sleeping right now. It's whether or not he wakes up that has me worried.” A knock on his door drew his attention. “Enter.” The door swung open and Tyrion walked in, a look of sincere concern across his face.

“I hope I'm not intruding.”

“Not at all. Just trying to reassure Rhaegar here. And myself, to some extent.” Tyrion walked over and offered his hand to Rhaegar, who licked it affectionately. Unlike Grey Wind or Ghost, Rhaegar seemed to have no reason to dislike Tyrion. Perhaps due to his relationship with his master, he didn't view him as a threat.

“I'm so sorry for your brother. Truly I am.”

“Thank you. It's a shame prayers and sympathy can't do more than just offer some imaginary comfort.”

“Very true. When I was younger, I prayed to all Seven Gods that my father and sister would forgive me for my mother's death. Or at least, stop tormenting me about it. As you can imagine, the value of highborn prayers is just the same as the prayers of smallfolk.”

“Worthless?”

“Exactly.” A somber laugh was shared between the two men.

“Although, sometimes prayers do get answered. I would know.” As the memory resurfaced he smiled while Tyrion looked both surprised and unconvinced.

“Really! And when did divine providence intercede on your behalf?” Torrhen began to explain, but decided on another course of action.

“Follow me. Let me show you.” Leaving his room, with Rhaegar and Tyrion following close behind, they made their way to the Godswood until they were standing before the Heart Tree. “When I was younger and it was just me, Robb and Jon, I noticed how often my mother saw us playing together and how...lonely she looked. So every day I would come here and pray to the gods, old and new, that they would give my mother another child so that she would be happy. I even prayed for a sister so that she could teach her how to be a lady. I prayed everyday for over a month and then one day, while kneeling right here” He pointed to a spot right in front of the carved face “Septa Mordane came here and told me that mother was with child. Nine months later, Sansa was born. I don't think you could have found a happier mother and father in all of the Seven Kingdoms. On that day I found proof that gods do exist. But that they choose when, where and for whom to work their miracles.”

“Interesting. I've never thought of it that way. However, I choose to believe in what my eyes see and ears hear.”

“And what do you see, Lord Tyrion?” Tyrion closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Exhaling slowly, he opened his eyes and looked straight at Torrhen.

“I see a father torn between love of family and love of honor. A mother holding on by her fingernails to sanity. A brother who has learned about duty and honor all his life is now forced to lead by those principles. A bastard who wishes desperately to belong. One sister who wishes to be a princess, the other wishes to be anything but. I see a young boy clinging to life and younger brother caught in a whirlwind of events without understanding anything. And then there's you, Torrhen.”

“Me?”

“Yes. I see a young man possessed of far more maturity than your frame would suggest. Someone who does not let notions like honor or chivalry blind him to the harsh realities of this world. Someone...who could achieve greatness if only given the opportunity.”

“You see all of that?”

“I do, a lot more than others seem to see.” This moved something in Torrhen, the idea that something within him remained invisible to all around him. Yet Tyrion Lannister, a Southern stranger until two day ago, saw it all too clearly.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For...being a friend when I needed one.” Tyrion looked genuinely shocked.

“Well, I'm stunned. I have been called many things; Half-Man, the Imp, I was even called a sardine once in the Riverlands but...never a friend.”

“Never too late to start.”

“No, I suppose not.” He extended his small hand toward Torrhen, which he grasped firmly. Both men smiled and Rhaegar rubbed his snout affectionately on Tyrion's chest.

“Well, he considers you a friend as well. That's a good sign.”

“I certainly hope so.” Torrhen watched as he scratched hesitantly behind Rhaegar's ears. “Shall we celebrate our friendship with some good wine?”

“Yes, we shall.” Rising and dusting off his trousers, the three of them walked out of the godswood. “I've made a decision. Regarding your accompanying Jon and Uncle Benjen.”

“And that decision is?”

“I'm going with you. I've never seen the Wall myself, and...I think it would be good to know that Jon has someone from the family with him.”

“Are you sure? He might take it as trying to dissuade him and I doubt he would appreciate it.”

“Perhaps, but I prefer to think of it as letting him know that there are some people here who love him. Besides, with Father going south and Robb staying here, what would I do otherwise? Sit in my room and read?”

“You know, that isn't such a bad idea. As long as there is plenty of good wine and cunt to help pass the time, of course.”

“By the gods, you're worse than Theon.”

“I certainly hope so. I have a reputation to consider, after all.” Torrhen had to stop and hold his sides from laughing so hard. After taking a moment to get his breath back, he looked at Tyrion with an incredulous look.

“You're incredible. Do you know that?”

“Yes. Yes I do.” As they made their way to the great hall, Torrhen suddenly turned them toward the stables. “What are you doing?”

“I don't like the mood here. We can get good wine in town, and more.” The two of them saddled horses and rode out the main gate, Rhaegar racing alongside and Torrhen immediately feeling better. As they made their way into town, they could hear music coming from the Smoking Log. As they dismounted and tied up their horses out front, Torrhen affectionately rubbed behind Rhaegar's ears. As they entered, with Rhaegar staying close, all the smells hit them at once and they soaked them in as they made their way to an open table near the fire. Nearby conversations were muted and the loudest sounds were the clinking of tankards and the creaking of floorboards.

“Keeper, food and wine for myself and my friend and a plate of your finest venison, raw of course, for my friend's wolf.” Tyrion called out, jingling a rather hefty purse, and almost immediately two rather large tankards were deposited at their table by the innkeeper, a lovely young woman who flashed a warm smile at Torrhen before returning to the kitchen. After toasting they drank deeply.

“Feeding deer to a wolf. Do I detect symbolism?”

“Nonsense, my friend. An animal as noble as a dire-wolf deserves the finest meat money can buy.”

“Well I will make sure that Rhaegar thanks you properly for your generosity.” Suddenly the same woman returned with a tray carrying two large bowls of venison stew and a loaf freshly baked bread with a large chunk of sharp cheese.

“Thank you, my dear.” Tyrion placed several gold dragons into her hand. “Don't forget the raw venison. I'm sure Rhaegar is absolutely starving. And before I forget, a round for the tavern on me.” He placed several more coins in her hand as the tavern's patrons cheered their good fortune, the conversation and music resuming their previous level.

“Of course, m'lord.” With a slight curtsy and a not-too-subtle wink at Torrhen, she departed to fetch Rhaegar's dinner while Rhaegar licked Tyrion's hand in thanks.

“Does your generosity know no limit, my friend?”

“One of the advantages of being a Lannister. What we lack in honor and chivalry we make up with an outrageous amount of money.” Raising their flagons in a toast, they set into their dinner with a vengeance.

“So when is the royal party heading south?”

“Sometime in the next few days. It's a whole month from Winterfell to King's Landing. If the weather's good, of course. My sister thinks the sooner they leave, the sooner she'll be back safe and sound in her own warm bed.”

“My father will probably be the complete opposite.”

“Yes. I have no doubt King's Landing will be to him as a boot with a stone to a foot. Rather damned uncomfortable.”

“At least Sansa and Arya are going with him. That will make it...easier, if such a thing is possible.”

“And why would it not be?”

“In all my life, my father left the North once. When he led his banners in the Greyjoy Rebellion. From all the stories I've heard of my father and his brothers, I've learned that Brandon was the leader, Benjen the follower, and my father was the warrior. I remember hearing of how he and King Robert stormed Pyke together, he with Ice and Robert with his warhammer. He was in his element on the battlefield. He may not have had wolf blood, but he was a ferocious warrior. But Hand of the King is not something I could see my father doing. He sees the world in black and white, right and wrong, and to be forced into a world where loyalties change with the tides...I don't see him lasting long.”

“But is that not the true test of any animal? To be forced into unfamiliar surroundings and attempting to survive?” Torrhen had to agree with him. “Your father is a formidable man, and perhaps he is just what King's Landing needs in these times.”

“Do you really believe that, Tyrion?”

“Why shouldn't I? Your father is the only man Robert has any real respect for. If he will listen to anyone, it's Eddard Stark.”

“Well, I hope you're right.”

“So do I, my friend. So do I.” The rest of the evening was spent either eating, drinking, laughing, and talking about their favorite books. For Torrhen, it was a wonderful night. He didn't think about Bran or Father or the King at all, rather about the innkeeper with those deep brown eyes and gorgeous lips.

(–)

The Gods, Old and New, were merciful to Torrhen as they spared his eyes the full brunt of the sun's rays. Rather, it was his ears that suffered as the rooster crowed. As his mind cleared he began to take in his surroundings. He was in bed, but it wasn't his. He was naked, and he wasn't alone. He was spooning against the innkeeper with one arm wrapped securely around her middle and the other above her head, with his hand buried in the curls of her brown hair. Raising his head slightly, he saw Rhaegar sleeping soundly at the foot of the bed. Laying back down, his eyes widened as he recalled the events of last night. As the evening progressed Tyrion had called her over and the three of them had enjoyed each other’s company, with the lady situating herself on Torrhen's lap. After the last of the patrons had left Tyrion had taken his leave as well. The rest of the evening was a blur, but from where the two had ended up it seemed like details really didn't matter. With that, Torrhen relaxed and squeezed her against him which drew a moan from her mouth.

“Good morning.” He whispered, planting a kiss on the back of her head. In response, she turned over to face him and kissed him gently.

“It is a good morning, my wolf.” As she pressed herself against him, her head nestled underneath his chin, a warmth spread through Torrhen. A warmth that he did not want to lose. “I have never felt as good as I do today.”

“I'm glad. I wasn't sure you would approve.” Her laughter was like music to Torrhen.

“I approve a thousand times over, especially the biting.” Torrhen's face went red while she giggled. “I've never made love to a Stark before. It seems that you're far warmer than I thought.” 

“Oh really? You thought all Stark men were cold?”

“Well this is the North, after all.” Torrhen had to admit that she did have a point. “Now, are you sure this was your first time?” He nodded sheepishly.

“Could you tell?” Threading his hands through her hair, he marveled at the softness. He wondered if this was how his father felt when he woke up with his mother. He found himself wanting that on a regular basis.

“No.” With her response, he found himself releasing a breath he didn't know he was holding.

“Good.” Planting another firm kiss, he rolled on top of her. As he looked into her eyes, he let out a short laugh. “I just realized something, and I'm so embarrassed.”

“What is it?”

“I don't remember your name. I hope you can forgive me.”

“You are forgiven, and my name is Della.” 

“Well Della, I'm Torrhen. It's nice to meet you. Again.”

“Indeed.” A peck on her lips earned him another smile. “So, you liked the biting?” With a nod he broke out an enormous grin. “Well then, the day is young...” He bared his teeth and set upon Della's soft flesh with vigor while she laughed. Suddenly, their renewed lovemaking was interrupted by a most unpleasant sound. The sound of someone looking for Torrhen.

“Lord Torrhen! Lord Torrhen, where are you?!”

“Seven Hells!” This woke up Rhaegar, who was on his feet in a flash. Leaping out of bed and not bothering to cover himself, Torrhen strolled to the window. Throwing open the shutters, he looked down at the man on horseback. “What in the name of the First Men do you want?!”

“Apologies, my lord. I come with the greetings of Lord Tyrion Lannister. He wishes to inform you that the royal party is riding for King's Landing today. He hopes you will still be accompanying him to the Wall.”

“Oh, right.” He muttered while rubbing his eyes. “I'll be down in a moment.” Turning away from the window, he began gathering his clothes.

“Must you go?” Turning to face Della, he saw that she was sitting upright and had drawn the bedsheets around her lithe and supple form. 'Gods, she looks glorious!' He thought as he sat at the foot of the bed next to Rhaegar and pulled his pants on, followed by his boots.

“Sadly, yes. I'm supposed to be traveling to the Wall with Lord Tyrion and my brother Jon. I would hate to be left behind.” Suddenly, he felt her arms around his neck and her breasts pressed into his back. It was a wonderful feeling.

“Taking the Black, are we?” She asked, laying kisses on his shoulder and neck. He growled in response.

“Not a chance. I have far too much to live for. Such as this.” Turning his neck, his planted his lips on hers and threading his hand through her hair. “But I made a promise, and I intend to keep it.” Grabbing his boots, he looked at Rhaegar. “Am I right, boy?” A nuzzling of Torrhen's hand was his positive response. “There, you see?”

“So you will return to me?”

“I certainly hope so.” This brought a smile to Della's face, which pleased Torrhen to no end. Reluctantly, he pulled away from her and gathered his remaining clothes while she remained on the bed. “I want you to know that if you need anything....”

“Thank you, but I don't need charity.”

“But if you do...”

“I don't need anything, Torrhen. I have made a good life for myself here. I enjoyed being with you, and would like very much to do it again.”

“So would I.” An awkward silence fell between them. Torrhen's mind was filled with turmoil until he finally reached a decision. “Della, if you find yourself with child...I want you to know that I will acknowledge them.” As he threw on his shirt and sword belt, Della's laugh in response startled him.

“I’m barren, Torrhen. I couldn’t have children if I wanted to.” Torrhen felt his face go slack. He had this whole speech prepared and now he felt really…stupid. 

“Oh.”

“Is something wrong?” Genuine concern came over her face.

“No, nothing's wrong. It's just...I had this whole speech planned about responsibility and accepting the consequences of my actions but now...I don't know what to say.” He sat down and ran a hand through his hair.

“You don't need to say anything. It's the thought that counts.” Della took his hand in her own and reclined on the bed with her hair splayed out over the pillows, never breaking eye contact with Torrhen. She looked so divine to him. “And my thought is that the woman who marries you will the luckiest girl in the Seven Kingdoms. You are a good man, Torrhen Stark. I speak as a first-hand witness to it.” 

“I hope I'm not prying, but how?”

“It's actually quite simple. I was born in the Reach near Oldtown, I married young and I was going to have a baby. But then I got very sick and I lost the child. After that I just…couldn’t get pregnant again. My husband threw me out and I found my way north. The former innkeeper gave me work and when he died I took over. I've run this inn ever since. That was eight years ago.”

“I see. Have you had others...before me?” A shrug of the shoulders was her response.

“Yes, but not for some time. Even a barren woman enjoys the warmth of another person.” As she spoke she sat back up, dropping the sheet and leaving her bare form for Torrhen to look upon with desire. He wanted nothing more than to be with her again and to the Seven Hells with Tyrion and Jon. But what kind of man would he be if he so casually ignored his promises.

“I understand, but that doesn’t change anything. I want to be with you again.” Slowly standing and taking his hand back, he grabbed his wolfskin cloak and riding gloves and made his way to the door before stopping abruptly. “Rhaegar, go outside and wait by Swiftwind.” Silently, he departed. Turning back he strode to the bed and took Della's head in his hands. “I will come back to you. I swear by the Old Gods and the New.” He kissed her passionately and it took all the strength he had to pull away. “I hope you believe what I say.”

“Oh, I do. I do, my wolf, and I will be here waiting for you.” While a smile and a final kiss, he turned and walked out the door. Remembering to close the door behind him, of course.


	7. Fond Farewells and Bittersweet Goodbyes

As Torrhen and his escort passed through the main gate, with Rhaegar close behind, they emerged into chaos. The royal party, as well as members of the Stark household traveling with Father and the girls, were making their final preparations for departure. As he rode toward the stables, he saw Tyrion walking toward the Great Hall.

“Tyrion!” After catching his attention he dismounted, handing Swiftwind's reins to a nearby stable boy.

“Ah, the conquering hero returns!” Torrhen bowed in response. “I think I see a little jaunt in your step.”

“Your eyes would not deceive you, my friend. In fact, I would still be at that inn if your messenger hadn't fetched me.”

“My apologies, but we are leaving today and I would hate to leave you behind.”

“How considerate of you. Well, I don't know about you but I am starving. Care to break fast with me?”

“I would love to, but my siblings are expecting me. You should probably say goodbye to your family.” Tyrion suggested while Torrhen looked to the Great Keep.

“You're right, I should. I'll meet you in the courtyard when we depart.”

“Until then, my friend.” After clasping arms firmly, the two men parted. As Torrhen climbed toward his room, he neared Sansa's room. He almost passed by it but something stopped him. Instead, sending Rhaegar ahead to his room, he turned and rapped his knuckles against the wood.

“Who's there?”

“It's Torrhen.” There was silence until he heard the latch move and the hinges creak as the door swung open, revealing Sansa wearing her best traveling gown and Lady faithfully at her side. “May I come in?” With a nod, she wordlessly allowed Torrhen entrance while she returned to packing. As he sat on her bed, Lady came over and put her head in Torrhen's hand at which he scratched behind her ears lovingly. “You look wonderful. I'm sure Joffrey will approve.”

“You think he will?”

“He'd better. Otherwise Robb and I will have some very stern words with him. I'm sure even Lady would like to put in a good word or two.” Torrhen grinned as Lady whined in response.

“You would lecture your future King?”

“Well Father is going to be lecturing his father, so why not? Besides, you are the most beautiful girl in the North. If he can't see that, then you would be better off declaring him a lost cause.”

“Well I think you're wrong. Joffrey will be a great king and I will be right beside him as his loving and loyal queen.” Sansa said with a small dose of arrogance, which made Torrhen roll his eyes.

“Alright, San-san. If you say so, I will believe you. But first I want to give you this.” Rolling up his left sleeve, he unclasped a thin silver bracelet from his wrist. He handed it to Sansa who looked at it mystified. “Mother gave it to me when I was very young, after Father returned from the Greyjoy Rebellion.”

“What are the markings on it?”

“They're runes of the First Men. Mother said that it belonged to the Blackwoods of Raventree Hall when they ruled the Riverlands as kings before the Andals came. No idea what the runes say, though. Mother believed it was some sort of good luck charm or a ward against evil spirits. I wear it as a reminder of my heritage.” He took it from her and clasped it on her left wrist. “Now you will. Never forget who you are and where you come from. You are a Stark of Winterfell, with the blood of the First Men in your veins. Promise me that you won't forget that.”

“I...I won't, brother.” Torrhen smiled and kissed her on the forehead.

“Good. And promise me you and Arya will get along. You will have only each other in the capital, so try at least.”

“I will try. But you know Arya.”

“That I do, but that doesn't make me love her any less.” The two siblings embraced warmly. “Now, I have to go check on Bran. I'll let you finish packing.” With a pat on Lady's head, he left Sansa's room. Making his way to his room by way of the kitchens where he seized and devoured a rather large piece of roast chicken with some hard cheese, he disrobed and proceeded to give himself a quick wash from the basin near the window while Rhaegar lounged quietly on his bed. “Well Rhaegar, are you excited? We're going to see the Wall.” Rhaegar barked in response which made Torrhen smile. “I thought so.” Grabbing a fresh shirt and pair of trousers, he began to dress when he caught his reflection in the mirror next to his bookcase. Silently he stared at himself; He had his father's hair and face, unlike Robb, but they shared their mother's Tully eyes with Torrhen's having more gray in them. They both had a stocky build common among the men of the North, but Torrhen's arms and shoulders were slightly bigger from his constant sword training. He looked at his hands, comfortable with both a sword grip and with the pages of the many books he kept in his room. As he dressed, he decided to take some of his books with him. If only for something to pass the time with Tyrion while en route to the Wall. Jon would probably be spending time with Uncle Benjen learning all about the Night's Watch. Suddenly, his stomach turned at the thought of Jon swearing himself to the Watch. Giving up any chance for a normal life. 'But then when have Starks ever been normal?' He thought as he buckled his sword belt and grabbed an extra saddle bag to fill with books. After selecting a dozen titles and securing the bag, he made his way out but not before taking one last look at his room before whistling to Rhaegar and closing the door behind him. As he made his way through the keep, he decided to say goodbye to Bran. Walking up to Bran's room, he saw the door was slightly open. 'Mother must still be with him. Better keep it short and see if I could get her to bed.' He thought as he bade Rhaegar stay outside with his saddle bag. As he pushed the door open, he saw Jon kneeling next to Bran while Mother looked at him with eyes full of hatred. He could hear him talking about how he would show Bran around Castle Black when he got better, even going beyond the Wall. Then he felt his father behind him. Silently they watched until mother said something to Jon that made his blood boil.

“I want you to leave.” Torrhen was clenching his fists so hard he could almost feel his nails cutting the skin. But he was able to restrain himself thanks to his father's strong hand on his shoulder. Wordlessly, Jon rose and kissed Bran on the forehead before walking past the two men. Torrhen put his hand on Jon's shoulder and squeezed affectionately before he walked out. All the while looking at his mother with cold anger. 

“Is it alright if I say goodbye as well? Or would you like me to leave to?” She remained silent as he walked over and stood next to Bran, brushing hair out of his face. “Hello Bran. I'm sorry I won't be here when you wake up, but I'm going to the Wall with Jon.” His mother's eyes widened in horror, but Torrhen pretended not to notice. “But don't worry. I will be back. I just want Jon to know that someone is this family cares about him. And when I come back, I'll tell you all about the Wall and the Night's Watch. You, me, and Rickon will sit by the fire in the Great Hall with Rhaegar, Summer, and Shaggydog and have a grand time.” Looking over his shoulder at Father, volumes were spoken and Torrhen knew it was time to go. “I love you, Bran. Never doubt that.” Giving him a quick kiss on the forehead, he gave his mother an icy glare and walked out without another word.

(–)

It took a few more goodbyes before Torrhen made it to the courtyard. He had to say goodbye to Old Nan first, thanking her for all her stories and promising to keep warm and stay out of trouble. Maester Luwin gave him some words of wisdom and promised to send a raven the instant Bran woke. Ser Rodrik swore by all the gods that he would keep his family safe and Torrhen thanked him for all the advice he had given. The most difficult goodbye was Rickon, who didn't seem to understand why all of his brothers and sisters were leaving. Fighting back tears he embraced him tightly, promising to return soon and making him promise to be good for Robb and mother. He even gave Shaggydog a hug for good measure, who licked his face in return. The tears were still brimming in his eyes as he stepped outside into the chaos of the courtyard. Rhaegar looked up at him, concern evident in his eyes. “I'm alright, boy. Just trying to keep my hopes up.” This seemed to please Rhaegar, who proceeded to bound over to where Ghost was waiting by Jon's horse and Swiftwind. Torrhen smiled, as the two misfit wolves enjoyed each others company. He also saw Jon and Robb walking his way

“Well I am certainly glad I didn't miss you, Jon!” He called out to them as he strapped his saddlebag to Swiftwind. “And I am so pleased to see you, Robb. It certainly wouldn't do for the acting Lord of Winterfell to not see his brothers off on their great adventure.” Both Jon and Robb had legitimate looks of confusion.

“Torrhen, what are you talking about?” Jon asked while Robb continued to look bewildered.

“Oh, you don't know? Must have slipped my mind completely. I'm going north with you and Tyrion to the Wall.” The looks of confusion turned to shock.

“You're taking the Black as well?”

“Of course not! But Jon is my brother and one of us should be with him. Since it can't be you, Robb, then the task falls to me.”

“But what about Uncle Benjen?”

“He'll probably be too busy with his Ranger duties to be good company. Besides, Tyrion and I have a great deal more to talk about and we would be happy to include you in our little talks. Also, I've never seen the Wall before and should make the effort to see it at least once before I die. Now if there are no further arguments, Jon and I should get going. Don't want to get left behind, now do we?” With a smile, he turned back to Swiftwind while Robb and Jon looked at each other.

“Well, the next time I see you, you'll be all in black.”

“It was always my color.” Jon said with a small chuckle.

“Farewell, Snow.”

“And you, Stark.” With that they hugged tightly and Robb turned to Torrhen who received a hug just as fierce. 

“You take care of yourself up there, brother.”

“And you too. Make sure Winterfell is still standing when I get back.” With that, he turned and made his way back to the keep while Torrhen and Jon looked on.

“Are you sure I can't change your mind?”

“Absolutely not. I promised Tyrion I would join him and I would hate to break a promise. Besides, I meant what I said. You are my brother and I want to be with you.”

“Torrhen...” Jon's response was cut off by a wave of Torrhen's hand.

“No time for that. We wouldn't want to keep Father waiting now, would we?” He said, climbing into his saddle. Jon nodded and joined him. With a whistle to Rhaegar, the four of them joined the column of men and horses leaving Winterfell. As they passed through the gate, Torrhen took one look back at his home and silently prayed that all would be well when he returned. 

(–)

Before too long, the column reached the stone waypost which marked the Kingsroad: The royal procession would turn left and make the month-long journey south to King's Landing, while Torrhen, Jon, Benjen and Tyrion along with his two escorts and the two wolves turned right towards the Wolfswood...and the Wall. As Benjen and Tyrion made their way ahead Ned, Jon and Torrhen stopped and watched the procession pass by.

“It's a great honor serving in the Night's Watch. The Stark have manned the Wall for thousands of years, and you are a Stark. You might not have my name, but you have my blood.” Torrhen smiled at this, but Jon looked troubled.

“Is my mother alive? Does she know about me? Where I am, where I'm going? Does she care?” The look on Father's face spoke volumes: He knew the truth, but something was holding him back. Was it fear...or something else?

“The next time we meet...we'll talk about your mother. I promise.” Jon nodded silently in response before father turned to Torrhen. “Look after your brother and be safe.”

“I will, father. And the same goes for you. Make it easy for Jory to keep you safe.”

“I'll do my best.” With that he rejoined the column. The two brothers silently watched him ride off before turning their horses and galloping north, their wolves keeping pace, and not looking back once.


	8. Unearthed and Unanswered

After three weeks of riding, the party had made camp on the banks of the Last River near the northern edge of the Wolfswood. It would be at least another week before they saw the Wall. Benjen told them they would stay here a few days since he was supposed to rendezvous with a pair of recruiters, or wandering crows as they were called, who were bringing some new recruits from the Fingers in the Vale. After three days of waiting which Torrhen occupied with drinking and reading with Tyrion and sword practice with Jon, the recruiters arrived. While Jon was shocked at their appearance, Torrhen and Tyrion weren't: The leader, Yoren, was disheveled, walked with a slight limp and smelled of sourleaf. His companion was no better and their "recruits" were even worse. When Torrhen asked Benjen why they were recruited, he said one of them had raped a twelve year old girl and the other had stabbed a man in the throat over a goat. 'The Watch really does take everybody.' Torrhen thought as Benjen oversaw the feeding of the prisoners. He saw Jon and Tyrion conversing and, surprisingly, getting along. So he decided that he needed some alone time, and took Rhaegar with him and a torch into the Wolfswood following the course of the stream. After some time he had traveled so far he could no longer see the fires from the camp and the only sounds were the wind, the water, and his own breath. Rhaegar had vanished into the woods, probably following the scent of some poor animal. 'Or maybe he's looking for some...company.' Torrhen laughed at the thought of Rhaegar racing through the woods in pursuit of a pretty she-wolf. "Well if I can enjoy the company of a woman, what says he can't?" He said to no one as he sat down under the branches of a large tree by the stream and gazed out over the forest. Suddenly, his eyelids felt heavy and sleep slowly claimed him.

(–)

_Walking through the woods, with only the crunch of snow underfoot to register his presence, he found himself following a path that was laid out beforehand and being guided by some unknown force. Before long he came upon a clearing bereft of any foliage and in the center of the clearing lay a dead falcon on its back. It looked like it had died quite suddenly, as if it had been sitting on a branch comfortably until...it wasn't. As he was examining it, he suddenly smelled blood from ahead of him. Slowly moving forward in the clearing he came across a full-grown stag with a broken antler and a gaping hole in its belly. It looked rather similar to the one found on the day of the deserters execution when the direwolf pups were found. Moving even farther forward he witnessed a full-grown direwolf having its throat ripped apart by the jaws of a full-grown lion. The wolf struggled in vain to get free but with a final press of the lion's jaws it struggled no more. Horrified, he gazed at the carnage until the lion dropped its opponent and looked at him with focused eyes and blood stained mouth. He wanted to run, but it was as if his legs were encased in ice. Even when the beast snarled at him his limbs would not move. It's as if they knew they could never outrun the beast. Well, if he couldn't run then he could at least stand his ground and look the bastard in the eyes. And that's what he did, staring the lion down. Daring him to move. Suddenly, the lion charged at him with mouth wide open and teeth bared. But Torrhen, afraid as he was, never broke eye contact. He was a Stark of Winterfell, a descendant of the First Men. His forefathers had built the Wall and united the North through blood, fire and sword. He would not run. As the lion leaped into the air with claws extended, he remembered what his father told him when he asked him if men could be brave when they were afraid._

__

_"It's the only time a man can be brave."_

(–)

Torrhen woke with a start, with Rhaegar's blood-red eyes staring right at him. The sky was darkening, with only the last few rays of the sun to illuminate the forest. He looked into Rhaegar's eyes, wondering what great secret was hiding behind them. A raven's cry pierced the woods, drawing Rhaegar's eye's toward it.

"What is it, boy?" His wolf answered by taking off into the woods after the raven, with Torrhen in hot pursuit. It didn't help that the last light of the sun was all but gone. Miraculously, he didn't trip over any rocks or exposed roots. How long he ran he couldn't tell, but before he knew it Rhaegar had slowed to a walk and then stopped before a massive weirwood tree with their quarry sitting on one of its branches. Torrhen gazed in awe; it was as big as the tree in the godswood at Winterfell, perhaps bigger. It's face looked worn, yet angry at the same time. But he realized that it wasn't the tree that Rhaegar was trying to show him, but rather what was underneath it. A large root had ripped open the earth, leaving a massive cavern into which the raven flew into and Rhaegar sat in front of patiently while Torrhen found his flint and tinder. As the torch burst into light, he unsheathed his sword and stepped into the cavern following Rhaegar who soundlessly entered the cavern. Both he and Torrhen followed the raven's call down a long passage, with Torrhen marveling at the roots of the tree and how they covered the walls and floor. 'This tree is probably old enough to be from the days when the Children of the Forest lived here.' Torrhen thought to himself as the torchlight cast eerie shadows on the walls. When they reached the end of the passage, they encountered a small cavern where they saw the raven sitting on a massive root. Or rather something sticking out of the root. Rhaegar stopped immediately and looked at intensely. When Torrhen saw it, he felt his breath catch in his throat. A longsword was buried in the root, covered in dirt and dust. In the torchlight he recognized the ripples in the blade. This was a blade of Valyrian steel. With a final caw, the raven took flight and made its way back to the surface. Sticking the torch into the ground and sheathing his sword, Torrhen slowly made his way over the root where the sword resided. Upon further inspection, he saw the wood around the blade was...infected somehow, like an untreated wound. He remembered Maester Luwin spoke of how difficult it was to treat such wounds, how inflamed the flesh was around the wound and how horrible the smell could be. Gently, he wrapped his hands around the hilt and began to rock the blade back and forth. Before long the rotted wood had given way and the sword came free. Kneeling by the torch, he used his cloak to wipe away the dirt and grime and the true beauty of the sword came to his sight. Suddenly, his eyes widened and his breath caught for a second time as recognition of the blade passed through his mind. This sword was legendary, wielded first by a warrior queen who rode a mighty dragon into battle centuries ago. She had burned a whole fleet of ships at Gulltown, destroyed the armies of the Reach and the Rock at the Field of Fire and won the Falcon Crown of the Vale of Arryn. It had also been wielded by others whose names carried through the histories with renown or scorn, even both: The Rogue Prince, The Dragon Knight, and Bloodraven. It hadn't been seen in decades and now it was in his hands. The sword of Queen Visenya Targaryen.

"Dark Sister." He whispered the name with a holy reverence of some sort and suddenly a great wind blew through the cavern. Startled, Rhaegar began frantically barking but then as quickly as it had come it was gone. To Torrhen it seemed as if the tree was...sighing, as if showing relief in having the sword finally removed. As he stood, he saw the gash where the sword had impaled the root begin to slowly heal. It would be years before it would be fully healed, but it was healing. He gripped the hilt in both hands and slowly began to perform the exercises that Ser Rodrik had taught him from the time he could walk. Acting on instinct, he whirled the blade through the motions with ever increasing speed. When he finished, he opened his eyes and felt tears.

He had heard the sword's song, and it was beautiful.

Wiping his eyes and surveying the cavern one last time, walked toward the tunnel with Rhaegar at his side and Dark Sister and the torch in his hands. As they emerged into the open air, he looked at the tree and saw that the carved face was now...smiling. 'My eyes are playing tricks on me.' He thought as he tossed the torch upon the ground and turned toward camp. Taking a deep breath of the cold air, he looked at Rhaegar plodding alongside him.

"Well boy, how do I explain all this back at camp? Any ideas?" All Rhaegar could do was cock his head and whine in a manner that seemed to say 'Don't look at me.'

"Thanks. What would I do without you?" With a scratch behind his ears, he sent him on ahead while took his time getting accustomed to the blade in his hands. Like his direwolf, he had made some strange connection with this sword. It was a part of him now, and no one would take it from him.

No one.

(–)

When he arrived back at camp everyone was worried about him. Jon had hugged him tightly, Yoren had commented on what a handful he would be for the Watch and Tyrion had jokingly chastised him for wandering off and leaving him all alone. Benjen, of course, was furious. He shouted at Torrhen, saying that as a Stark he should know better than to go wandering off into the Wolfswood alone at night. But all talk ceased when he showed Dark Sister and suddenly everyone wanted to look at and hold it. Even the prisoners, but one look from Yoren quashed their curiosity. Once the excitement had gone down most of the camp went to sleep save for those on watch. Torrhen and Tyrion stayed awake as well; Tyrion reading one of his many books and Torrhen would absentmindedly turn Dark Sister in his hand and wipe it with a clean rag, with one or the other occasionally poking the fire to keep it alive. For what seemed like an eternity not a word was spoken. Suddenly, Tyrion's voice broke his trance.

"You're a strange man, Torrhen Stark." Puzzled, Torrhen looked up from the blade.

"In what way?" At this Tyrion sighed, closed his book and looked him straight in the eyes.

"In several ways. You have a pet direwolf named after a man your father's best friend killed in single combat, a dwarf for a friend and a legendary sword that hasn't been seen for nearly sixty years which you pulled out of a tree root. And all of this in the span of a few months, whereas the rest of your life hasn't nearly been as eventful. Quite strange, indeed."

"You forgot the dreams."

"You had another one?" Torrhen nodded and told him about the dream he had in the woods while Tyrion listened with rapt attention. When he finished, Tyrion released a breath he hadn't even realized he had been holding. "Well, that sounds...troubling."

"What do you think it means?"

"Well nothing good, that's for certain. But other than that, I have no idea. What do you think?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, but all of a sudden I'm afraid. What really happened to Lord Arryn? What's going to happen to my father and my sisters? What's going to happen to King Robert?"

"I have no good answers for you, my friend. Only this; your father is a strong man who is more than capable of taking care of himself. You shouldn't worry about things over which you have absolutely no control over."

"Then why do I have these dreams? Why do I have this knowledge but no way to use it?"

"Only the gods can answer those questions, and I don't think they'll be answering you any time soon. And instead of obsessing over unanswerable questions, perhaps both of us should get some sleep." A silent nod from Torrhen signaled his agreement with this statement and the two travelers bundled down, but only one went to sleep. For Torrhen, endless questions tumbled about in his mind all the while gripping Dark Sister's hilt so tightly his knuckles turned white. Finally he forced his mind to quiet down and accepting the truth of Tyrion's words he closed his eyes and let sleep overtake him, praying that there would be no more dreams. Unless they were of Della.

(–)

An uneventful week later the party arrived at the Wall. Nothing in the stories prepared Torrhen for the real thing. Seven hundred feet high and three hundred miles long, he could barely see the top. During the trip, Uncle Benjen had told him that a dozen knights could ride abreast along the top, and Torrhen now believed him. As they rode toward Castle Black, with the Wall increasingly looming over them, Torrhen looked at Tyrion and saw a stunned look on his face as well.

"Can you imagine that men did this?"

"If I didn't before, I do now."

"I remember the stories of how Brandon the Builder, founder of House Stark, had giants help in the construction. Giants! What a sight that would be!" Torrhen could scarcely contain his excitement. Looking at the other members of the party he saw different reactions; Uncle Benjen looked at the Wall with fondness, as if he was coming home after a long journey. Yoren, after spitting out another gob of that disgusting sourleaf, looked relieved to be rid of his charges and able to get some decent food in his belly and a warm bed for his back. The recruits looked up at the Wall with a mixture of fear and resignation, and Jon...was a mystery. His face had no clues as to what he was thinking. This concerned him, but such concerns could wait until later as they passed through the main gate into the courtyard of Castle Black with Ghost and Rhaegar bounding alongside. The courtyard was a buzz of activity as they dismounted and tied up their horses in the stables; Rangers either sparring or practicing archery, Stewards cataloging supplies and laboring in the armory, and Builders transporting tools and materials up to the top to fix and maintain the battlements. Everyone was doing something, and they were all covered in black. Right away, he could see who was who: Those who could afford to were wearing black clothes and black armor, custom-made in anticipation of their recruitment. Those who couldn't appeared to have simply painted their clothes black. Some of them didn't do so good a job. Suddenly a great, deep voice shook him from his reverie.

"Welcome back, First Ranger." Torrhen looked up and saw an old man in a long black cloak descending to the courtyard from the Lord Commander's Tower. From his father's tales he recognized the man; Jeor Mormont, former lord of Bear Island, the ancestral seat of House Mormont. Broad-shouldered and strong with a shaggy gray and white beard, despite his age Torrhen knew this man to be a seasoned warrior and leader from his confident stride and how comfortable the sword looked strapped to his waist. On his shoulder sat a raven, larger than any he had ever seen before. It had a glint in its eyes that fascinated and disturbed him, as if the raven knew things no one else knew. Things it wasn't supposed to know. "I trust you enjoyed yourself at Winterfell?"

Glad to be back, Lord Commander Mormont, and I did. And I brought some new recruits." He motioned to Yoren and his men who escorted the prisoners to the barracks. May I present my nephews, Torrhen Stark and Jon Snow," Torrhen and Jon politely bowed "And we have a special guest with us. May I introduce Tyrion, son of Tywin of House Lannister." Tyrion came forward and bowed as well.

"It's a pleasure to have you all here. Have you all come to take the black?"

"Jon is. I'm here for support while Tyrion is here to see the Wall, and nothing more."

"Understood. Just remember that all are welcome, regardless of rank, race, or...size." Mormont motioned to Tyrion, who grinned smugly, and then called over a steward. "Have rooms prepared for our guests in the King's Tower. We would be honored to have you at supper tonight. Snow, we'll set you up with lodgings in Hardin's Tower for the duration of your training. I trust this is acceptable to all?" All three nodded and then Mormont departed. As the party unpacked their saddlebags, Torrhen craned his neck to look upon the Wall and felt a cold lump in his stomach.

**  
**"This is what you want, Jon? What you really want?" He whispered to himself while Rhaegar whined in understanding.


	9. New Friends and Hard Truths

The night brought no sleep for Torrhen as he lay on his bed in the King's Tower, wrapped in furs and holding Dark Sister to his chest while Rhaegar slept at the foot of his bed. His mind was in turmoil, and no matter what he did he could not make the storm subside. So much had happened so fast and it was as if his mind had far too little time to process it all. He looked over to Tyrion, snug in his bed and sleeping so soundly that the collapse of the Wall wouldn't rouse him. 'Lucky bastard.' He thought as he threw off his covers. Grabbing his boots, belt and cloak and slipping his sword into his belt, he decided that a short walk and a few lungful's of cold northern air would do him good. As he made his way to the door, grabbing a lantern from the nearby table, Rhaegar lifted his head. Quickly putting a finger to his lips he knelt beside him and gently patted his head.

 

“Stay here, I won't be long. You keep Tyrion out of trouble.” With a lick from Rhaegar's tongue as acknowledgment, Torrhen lit the lantern with flint and tinder from his bags and walked out into the night. As the cold winds slammed into him, he breathed deeply. He felt his mind calm almost instantaneously so, feeling curious, he made his way to the library. He had been told by Lord Mormont that the library of Castle Black was massive and contained books that even the Citadel in Oldtown did not possess. Upon finding the entrance he crossed the threshold softly so as not to make any noise on the wooden floorboards and walked among the shelves. Holding the lantern to eye level, he marveled at some of the titles; _The Loves of Queen Nymeria, History of the Rhoynish Wars, The Jade Compendium, Wings of Conquest: The Chronicles of Artos Arryn._ He even saw a First Edition copy of _The Princess and The Queen_ by Archmaester Gyldayn. He marveled at the stacks of knowledge, and yet felt sad at the fact that even if he lived for a hundred years he could never read all of them.

 

“Quite the collection, isn't it?” A squeak of surprise came from Torrhen's mouth as he whipped around to face whoever was at the door. “Oh, forgive me. I didn't mean to startle you.”

 

“No, it's alright. I wasn't expecting anyone else up at this hour.”

 

“Likewise.” The figure slowly drew closer to the light, his features slowly revealed. He looked ancient, with wrinkled skin, shrunken features and eyes that saw nothing. From his robe and the chain around his neck, Torrhen assumed that this was the maester. “Not many find their way to this library nowadays. A pity, a true and honest pity.” Walking with measured steps, he guided himself into a nearby chair, which impressed Torrhen. 'He must have this entire library committed to memory.'

 

“I didn't see you at supper, maester...?”

 

“Aemon. Sometimes I take my meals with the ravens. I find it relaxing listening to their chatter. You might be surprised what you can learn listening to ravens. You are Torrhen Stark, I assume?”

 

“Yes. I'm here with my brother Jon and Lord Tyrion. We just arrived today.”

 

“And how do you find our modest order?” Torrhen struggled to find an appropriate answer, until he realized that Aemon wanted the truth. So he would give the truth.

 

“Not very impressive, to be honest. I mean no disrespect.”

 

“None taken. It is true that our order has fallen on hard times. There was a time when every castle along the Wall had several hundred brothers. All volunteers, mind you. Every one of them willingly swearing to defend the realms of men from all that lay beyond. Now, most consider it a punishment for criminals and the last refuge for younger sons and the natural-born of nobility.”

 

“I suppose it's because no one takes the Night's Watch seriously anymore.”

 

“Indeed, but some do still. Like your uncle and Lord Mormont. And myself.” Torrhen nodded in agreement. “Please sit.” Placing the lantern and Dark Sister on the table, Torrhen pulled up a chair and sat down facing Aemon. “Am I to assume you will not be staying with us?”

 

“I'm afraid not, no. There is so much of the world I haven't seen and I want to see as much of it as I can. I don't see why Jon doesn't feel the same.”

 

“Is that why you're here in this library? Because of your brother?”

 

“I just wanted to calm my mind. I don't like having all of these thoughts about how Jon's joining the Watch for the wrong reasons.”

 

“And why do you think he's joining?”

 

“Because of my mother!” He exclaimed, abruptly rising from his seat.” Because of her, he feels like he has nowhere else to go except here. She would love it, you know. To see her husband's bastard son freeze to death miles from home with no one to care for him.”

 

“Or perhaps he feels he can accomplish more here than he ever could at Winterfell. Have you considered that?”

 

“No. No, I didn't. Maybe I'm just being selfish, but I don't want to lose my brother.”

 

“Sometimes we have to give up the things we love because it is simply the right thing to do. I know this feeling all too well.”

 

“You do?”

 

“Sit down, Torrhen Stark.” Torrhen returned to his seat and focused his attention on Aemon, whose face had become hard. “My father was Maekar, the First of his Name and fourth son of Daeron, the Second of his Name. His first son and my older brother was also Daeron, although most people called him the Drunken. My next oldest brother was Aerion, who called himself Brightflame due to his singular belief that he was a dragon in human form. He died drinking wildfire, the idiot. My younger brother was Aegon, whom they called Egg and would later call the Unlikely. A sweet boy, a decent boy who became a fine king after I refused the throne. Of everything I left behind in King's Landing, his smile and laughter are what I miss the most. It's been almost seventy years since I last saw him, but I can still remember his face.”

 

“Aemon...Targaryen?” Torrhen's eyes widened at this revelation. A living, breathing Targaryen sitting right in front of him.

 

“I was. Now I am simply Aemon, maester of the Citadel. Bound to serve Castle Black and the Night's Watch and nothing more. I surrendered my freedom to protect my brother from the bloodshed that would have followed had ambitious nobles declared me Maekar's rightful heir. Westeros could not afford another Dance of the Dragons. I have never regretted that decision, not once in seventy years. No, that's not right. I regretted it once, seventeen years ago. The day the ravens came from the south bearing news of my family's death and my house's ruin. How my nephew's son died a raving lunatic, and his firstborn son a tragic warrior. But the worst was the children. The little children! Butchered like livestock.” The anger in Aemon's voice was so thick one could cut it with a knife. But behind that anger was genuine sadness for the loss of his family and his powerlessness to do anything about it.

 

“I'm sorry. I can't even imagine that kind of agony.” Torrhen softly replied, taking Aemon's hands into his own. Aemon smiled and gripped them tightly.

 

“I pray you never do. But remember I made this choice and I must live with all the consequences, good or ill. As your brother must, and as you must. Now, may I see your sword?” Silently, he gently gave the sword to Aemon, who ran his hands gently across the pommel, hilt and blade. “Where did you find it?”

 

“Buried in the root of a weirwood tree near the Last River, at the edge of the Wolfswood.” Aemon smiled at this.

 

“I remember the last time I saw this sword. It was just after my great-uncle Brynden Rivers, or Bloodraven as many called him, and I arrived here. A fortnight before we were supposed to swear our vows, he disappeared with it. I feared he had decided to flee into exile like his half-brother Bittersteel. But he returned without the sword, only the scabbard. He never told me what he did with it, but now I know.” He placed it into Torrhen's hands. “He wanted you to find it.”

 

“Me? But why? I'm no Targaryen.”

 

“My great-uncle never did anything without a reason. The rumors that he dabbled in sorcery may have had a grain of truth to them. If you found Dark Sister, it was not by chance.”

 

“It certainly doesn't feel like chance. Finding direwolves, my father being named Hand, and now finding a legendary Targaryen blade. It all seems too...convenient.” Torrhen said, as his eyes wandered over the ripples in the blade.

 

“You and Rhaegar would have agreed on that. He never took such circumstances lightly.” At Rhaegar's name his head snapped up.

 

“You knew Rhaegar?!”

 

“Indeed I did. We wrote each other many times, and I was always looking forward to his letters. He was quite a thoughtful man, for one so young. He would have made a fine king, had fate not had more tragic designs. And he would have liked you.” Torrhen suddenly found himself blushing and selfishly thanked the gods that Aemon was blind.

 

“You honor me, maester Aemon.”

 

“And you honor me by allowing me the chance to hold a piece of my history one last time. It pleases me to know that my family's legacy is in good hands. Now, get some sleep. Young men should get all the sleep they can. And tomorrow, would you care to join me here? I do enjoy discussing books with a fellow intellectual.”

 

“I will, and thank you. For everything.” And so Torrhen rose, taking Dark Sister in hand, and slowly walked out. As Torrhen made his way to the King's Tower, he began to realize he was being overprotective about Jon. 'Aemon and Tyrion are right', he thought. Jon was old enough to make decisions and had decided on this path because he believed it to be the right one. And as his brother, he had to respect that decision regardless of what he felt. As he slowly made his way inside and patted Rhaegar's head, he let out a massive yawn. Relieved that his mind would now allow his body the rest it needed, he disrobed quietly and crawled into bed. As his eyes closed, he knew the doubts were still there but for now the storm in his mind had subsided. And then he thought no more.

 

(–)

 

Over the next two days, save for meals, Torrhen spent most of his hours with Aemon while Tyrion conversed with Lord Mormont and Jon trained. He walked with and read books to the maester, and in return he talked of his life before the Watch. Torrhen was fascinated by his detailed accounts of life as a Prince in the Red Keep, a maester at Dragonstone and everything in between. He spoke of his brother Aegon and how he squired for Ser Duncan the Tall, the Whitewalls Tourney where Daemon Blackfyre II was all but thrown to Bloodraven and the Raven's Teeth, and more. No matter what Aemon spoke of, Torrhen was enthralled. The best part was that he wasn't worrying about Jon. He saw Jon in the training yard, but apart from a smile and a wave he was kept off his mind. He hoped this would continue until he had to depart, constantly reminding himself that this was his choice.

 

(–)

 

On the third day, Torrhen found himself walking in the courtyard with Rhaegar at his side as Jon underwent sword training with several other new recruits. More accurately, as Jon beat the shit out of several new recruits. All under the watchful, contemptuous gaze of Ser Alliser Thorne, master-at-arms of Castle Black. A slim and sinewy man in his fifties, he had black hair streaked with gray and black eyes set in a hard, calloused face that had seen many battles. His stance was of a man who was more than capable in a fight but didn't suffer fools in the slightest. He was hard on the trainees, none of whom had anything nice to say about him, especially Jon whom he had been mockingly referring to as 'Lord Snow'. He couldn't help but wince as Jon laid into one recruit after the other with the skills repetitiously taught by Ser Rodrick while the others held their blades as if they had never held a sword in their lives. For most of them that assumption was true. Finally, after another disparaging remark by Ser Alliser, the recruits were dismissed with most walking and the rest limping. Climbing the steps to the Lord Commander's Tower, he joined the two observers.

 

“Good day, Lord Commander. Tyrion.” Lord Mormont silently nodded.

 

“And a good day to you, my friend. Lord Mormont and I were just talking about Ser Alliser. Wouldn't you agree that he is quite a charming man?”

 

“If he's charming, I'm Shiera Seastar.” Tyrion chuckled while the Lord Commander’s face remained stoic, as if humor was something he had to throw away to survive in this harsh place. Or there was something on his mind that troubled him, so much so that he couldn’t even think of humor.

 

“Whether or not Ser Alliser is charming is of no matter. What matters is that he can take this band of bastards, thieves and runaways and turn them into men of the Night's Watch.” His voice sounded strained, as if his confidence in the Watch had waned over the years. Torrhen could sympathize.

 

“And how is that coming along?

 

“Slowly.”

 

“The name sounds familiar. Isn’t there a House Thorne?” Torrhen silently thanked Tyrion for changing the topic.

 

“Aye, there is. The Thorne’s are from the Crownlands, sworn to the Iron Throne. Not a great house, but they have a proud history. Ser Alliser fought for the Targaryens during the war against the Mad King. After the Lannister’s sacked King’s Landing, he was one of the few defenders left alive. Lord Tywin gave him a choice: The Black…or the block. Now his younger brother Tristan holds his lands.”

 

“Hence his sunny disposition.” Torrhen chimed in.

 

“Indeed. Before I forget, master Aemon wanted you to have this.” He pulled a scroll from his belt and handed it to Torrhen. “A raven came from Winterfell last night. For you and your brother.” Unrolling the scroll, he began to read maester Luwin’s handwriting carefully before his eyes grew wide.

 

“Good news or bad?” Tyrion inquired.

 

“Both.”

 

“He’s awake. Seven Hells, he’s awake! If you both will pardon me, I need to speak with my brother. Rhaegar, come!” With a quick bow, man and wolf bounded down the steps and made their way to the armory. Opening the door, Torrhen's eyes fell upon three men holding Jon up against a wall with a rather large knife. In a heartbeat, Dark Sister was in his hands and Rhaegar's teeth were bared. “Let my brother go, now!”

 

“This is our affair, highborn!” Torrhen remembered the man holding Jon's arms behind him. Yoren said his name was Rast, taken near Oldcastle by men of House Locke for raping a farmer's twelve-year old daughter.

 

“I will not say it again. Release my brother, rapist, or I will see to it that you need not take your vows. Because you won't have a fucking head!”

 

“Now now, let's not be too hasty.” Tyrion said, surprising everyone and gently patting Torrhen’s sword arm. He lowered it slightly and Rhaegar closed his mouth but both remained ready to fight while Tyrion silently observed the three men. For a few drawn-out moments, no one said a word. Until Rast broke the silence.

 

“What you lookin’ at, half-man?”

 

“I’m looking at you. Yes, you’ve got an interesting face. Very distinctive faces, all of you.”

 

“What do you care about our faces?” Rast countered while the other two looked on, wondering what the hell was going on. Torrhen was doing the exact same thing, but he suspected that Tyrion was planning something and so he was determined to play along.

 

“Well...it's just I think they would look very nice decorating spikes in King's Landing. Don't you think? Perhaps I'll write my sister, the Queen. What do you say to that, Torrhen?” Torrhen couldn’t help but grin at the look of horror on the three men’s faces as Tyrion casually mentioned the amount of influence he possibly had over their lives.

 

“Sounds like a wonderful idea. But perhaps we don't even need to bother her. She's a busy woman and we shouldn't burden her with such trivial things.” Tyrion pretended to contemplate until he nodded too.

 

“You’re quite right, my friend.” He replied, turning to the three assailants. “Well?” As if they finally got the hint, the three disengaged from Jon. Rast quickly left the armory, skirting past Torrhen and breaking into a run when Rhaegar growled. The other two made their way over to the armor racks while Jon remained leaning against the weapons rack, breathing slowly. Torrhen sheathed Dark Sister and Rhaegar’s ears came back up. While the situation had been settled without bloodshed, the tension still remained. If Tyrion felt it, he said nothing.

 

“Are you alright?” Torrhen said, walking over and laying a comforting hand on Jon’s shoulder. Tyrion kept a comfortable distance while Rhaegar sat next to him, keeping his steady gaze on the two recruits.

 

“Everyone knew what this place was, and no one told me. No one but you two. Father knew, and he left me to rot at the Wall all the same.” Jon said with a grimace, as if the revelation left a bad taste in his mouth. Torrhen was shocked at the idea that their father would have left him here. Jon wanted to come, wanted to swear the oath and take the Black! This was all his fucking idea! But before he could lay into Jon, Tyrion stepped forward.

 

“Grenn’s father left him, too. Outside a farmhouse when he was three years old.” He nodded his head toward the larger of the two recruits, who was built like an ox with a head of red hair. “Pyp was caught stealing a wheel of cheese. His little sister hadn’t eaten in three days.” He nodded to the smaller one who had a face reminiscent of a mouse. “I’ve been asking Lord Commander Mormont about them. Fascinating stories.”

 

“They hate me because I’m better than they are!” Jon exclaimed, as if he was surprised that he wasn’t getting the respect that he thought was due to him. Torrhen clenched his fists so hard he could feel his fingernails digging into his palms. He wanted to smack the arrogance of Jon’s head but once again Tyrion did more with words than he could with his fists.

 

“It’s a good thing none of them were trained by a seasoned master-at-arms like your Ser Rodrik. In fact, I don’t think any of them have ever held a real sword before.” Suddenly, Jon’s expression changed as realization dawned on him. “Now if you will excuse me I do believe Torrhen has news to share with you.” He then turned to Grenn and Pyp. “And if you two had any sense, you would give them some privacy.” Soon all three of them were gone, leaving only the two brothers and a wolf.

 

“I would have expected this kind of arrogance from anyone but you, Jon.” Torrhen declared, looking Jon straight in the eye.

 

“Arrogance? It’s not my fault that I know how to fight!”

 

“No it’s not. It’s your fault that you’re rubbing their faces in it. I saw you laying into them like you were Daemon Blackfyre at the Redgrass Field. Between that and Ser Alliser’s...helpful instruction, are you really surprised that they were about to cut your throat?” He took Jon’s silence as a confirmation. “You want to be accepted by this sworn brotherhood? Then be a brother. Teach them, give them confidence. Earn their respect and trust, and maybe they might start calling you Lord Snow as a compliment rather than an insult.” Squeezing his shoulder, he turned to leave before he remembered why he sought him out and withdrew the scroll from his belt. “Oh, I almost forgot. A raven came from Winterfell last night.” Jon snatched the scroll from his hand before he could blink and unraveled it. “Bran's awake.” Suddenly Jon was immersed in the scroll and Torrhen took his leave, Rhaegar padding silently behind him. As he emerged into the courtyard, he saw Tyrion leaning on a nearby wall. Walking over to him, he ran his hands through his hair and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

 

“All is well, I hope?”

 

“You may hope. One brother is crippled and another needs a good smack upside the head. Still, Jon has more sense than most. He'll understand, eventually.”

 

“I'm sure he will. You worry too much.”

 

“I suppose it's because I have an empty stomach. Care to share a meal with me?”

 

“Not right now. I have an idea and I need a quill and some parchment. I will see you at dinner tonight.” With that he strode off, leaving Torrhen and Rhaegar to watch the courtyard's activity before their stomachs reminded them of their mission. Entering the common room, Torrhen didn't see Aemon at the upper table at the end of the hall. Suddenly realizing where he could be found he grabbed two bowls along with a nice bone, filled them with the morning's stew, and made his way to the rookery. Sure enough, after climbing the steps he saw him feeding his ravens with practiced hands and one ear cocked toward their cages, as if trying to gain better understanding of their chatter. Rhaegar walked under a nearby table and lay down.

 

“Thought I might find you here.”

 

“Ah, Torrhen! How good to hear your voice.”

 

“I brought you something to eat. I didn't know if you had already broken fast.”

 

“You are correct, my lad. I wanted to make sure that my birds were fed before I tended to myself. But thanks to you, I am in no hurry.”

 

“May I help? I usually help maester Luwin at Winterfell.”

 

“Really? Well, by all means.” Placing the bowls of stew on Rhaegar’s table Torrhen grabbed a bowl full of raw meat and began to slowly work his way around the cages, stopping to throw in two or three pieces to the ravens who cawed in thanks before he moved on. “Was food the only reason you came to visit me?”

 

“Actually I...I wanted to thank you for the message. It means a lot to me and Jon that our brother's alright. Other than Jon and my dreams, it's all I've really thought about.”

 

“A brother's love is a powerful thing. I speak as a firsthand witness to that fact.” Torrhen smiled, remembering all their earlier conversations. “But something troubles you still, does it not?”

 

“Ever since he could walk, Bran could climb anything. Rain, wind, snow, it didn't matter the weather. I once told Robb that he could climb a wall of glass. I just can't believe that he could fall. I never did, except...never mind.” He focused on the ravens, hoping that Aemon would drop the subject.

 

“When did you fall?” Just the way Aemon asked that question made it impossible for him to do anything but tell the truth. So he put his bowl down and took a deep breath.

 

“I was eight. Before Bran was born, I was the climber in the family. From the time I could walk I climbed everything I saw. The trees in the godswood, the Broken Tower, everywhere. I knew all the secrets paths in Winterfell and how to get from one side of the castle to the other without ever being seen. No matter how many times Mother or Septa Mordane scolded me and told me that the sons of lords do not go climbing I would just keep doing it. I suppose I thought I knew better. Then Father was called away by King Robert to fight against the Greyjoy's, and I climbed even more. I suppose I was restless and wondered when or even if he would return. Then, one day, I was climbing the walls in the godswood when I must have put my foot on the wrong stone because all of a sudden I was holding onto the top of the wall by my fingers. I was so frightened I forgot to scream, but as I was hanging there I began to pray to the Old Gods. I prayed that I would never climb again if they would only let me climb down and see my father. I don't know how long I prayed but suddenly I had the strength to pull myself up on top of the wall. I collapsed on my back and looked up at the sky, watching the birds fly overhead as I gathered my breath and wits.” Torrhen had to stop as the memories began to take shape. He felt his eyes begin to water. “Then I heard the pounding of horse hooves coming from the main gate. Bringing news of father, I thought. So I slowly climbed down the wall and when I reached the bottom I slowly walked into the courtyard...and there he was. My father, astride his horse, in full armor and with Ice slung across his back. I couldn’t believe it; he was really home. As he dismounted I ran, screaming, to him and threw myself into his arms. I held him so tightly, afraid that if I let go he would disappear. He held me just as tightly as I kept saying “You’re home, you’re home.” After that day, I never climbed again. Mother thought it was due to her finally getting through to me, but I knew why. I made a promise to the gods and they had upheld their end of the deal, so I had to do the same. And not once in nine years have I ever climbed.” As the tears rolled down his cheeks, he felt Aemon’s hands clasp his own. “He’s ten years old, Aemon. Ten years old and he’ll never walk again. He’ll never ride a horse, dance with a beautiful girl or walk with his children. It’s not fair. Of all the people this could happen to, why him? WHY HIM?!” Torrhen held his head in his hands, sobbing. He felt all of his fears and frustrations rush out at once. After what seemed like minutes, he felt like he couldn’t cry anymore. He looked up through tear-stained eyes and saw Aemon standing before him silently while Rhaegar nuzzled his leg affectionately.

 

“For such questions I cannot give you the answers you want. But I do know this; if your brother is half the man you are, I have no doubt that he will overcome this setback. A man who cannot walk is no less of a man as long as he keeps his wits and his will.”

 

“You really mean that?”

 

“I do. I have faith that he will not only live, but thrive. But whether or not I have faith is not important. What is important is that you do.”

 

“How?”

 

“Let him know he is loved and valued, regardless of his injury and the rest will fall into place. Now, dry your eyes and let’s enjoy this before it gets too cold.” With that, the two men sat down to their bowls of beef stew and nothing more was said. Nothing more had to be. As Torrhen ate, he thought about the contents of the message. Only his legs were broken, not his mind. He might never join the ranks of the Kingsguard, but he was a very bright boy. Perhaps he could join the ranks of the Maesters? He would talk to him about that once he returned to Winterfell. With that resolved, he returned his mind to his good meal and even better company. 


	10. Gifts and Lessons

The next day Torrhen stood in front of the lift with his head up, his neck straining as he tried to see the top of the Wall. “This must be how Tyrion feels talking to...anyone.” He said to Rhaegar, who was looking up at the same time. The eyestrain and the biting wind made his eyes water, but still he looked. It was as if he had to take time to really commit it to memory, since over the last few days the Wall itself was the last thing on his mind. But now that so much had been resolved, he found himself drawn to the massive structure. Seven hundred feet tall and three hundred miles wide, it stretched from one coast to the next slicing the continent in half. He couldn't even begin to imagine how such a structure could be raised. He remembered all of Old Nan's stories of how Bran the Builder, the first King in the North, used an army of giants and the magic of the Children of the Forest to create it. While he found himself skeptical of such tales, there was a part of him that believed that such things may have been possible. Who knows what really happened eight thousand years ago?

“Hell of a sight, isn't it?” Uncle Benjen's rough but warm voice shook him from his trance. He slowly turned his head, so as not to hurt his neck, and saw him climbing the steps to stand beside him.

“It is. Hard to imagine men building this.”

“But they did. Did you know that quite a long time ago, the Watch made it a mandate to constantly add to the Wall?”

“That's news to me.”

“I suppose it is. These days, we've barely enough men and materials to maintain the damn thing.”

“You seem to be doing alright by the looks of things.” The sarcasm wasn't lost on the First Ranger and the two shared a laugh.

“Have you been to the top yet?”

“I haven't had the chance.”

“Well now you do. Come on, it's something you should do at least once. Why not together?”

“What about Jon?” Torrhen asked, looking over his shoulder to see Jon giving instructions in swordplay to his fellow recruits. From his posture and authoritative but gentle tone of voice, it was clear he had taken the advice given yesterday to heart. This brought a smile to his face.

“This time is for you and me. It's not often I get to have a quiet moment with family.” Clapping his shoulder, Benjen led him and Rhaegar toward towards the lift and all the while he silently prayed to the Old Gods to protect them. But then he realized they technically weren’t climbing, just traveling to the top via the lift. Suddenly Torrhen felt rather silly and confidently joined his uncle on the lift, but making sure to hold on to something secure. Just in case. With the clanging shut and a quick hand signal to the wheelman, they slowly rose into the air. As they left the ground, Torrhen kept his eyes closed and allowed himself to feel their ascent. Rhaegar, perfectly relaxed, was curled up at his feet. About halfway up, he opened his eyes and lost his breath. It seemed to him that the entire North was displayed before him and as the ascent continued the view expanded. By the time they reached the top, he thought that he could just make out Moat Cailin.

“The view never gets old. Seventeen years, and I'm still impressed.”

“I can see why.”

“Come on. I'll show you what it looks like from the other side.” They exited the lift and immediately Torrhen wrapped his cloak tightly around him as the biting winds hit him with their full fury. Benjen softly chuckled. “First time's always a shock. But the view is worth it.” As they walked the trench-like battlements, Torrhen found himself dreading having to stand watch for a night. Even with his heavy furs and cloak wrapped around him it felt as if the wind was cutting through him like a Valyrian steel blade through silk curtains. Suddenly, they entered one the pillboxes and he forgot all about the cold. As far north as he could see, the entire landscape was not just covered but enveloped in snow and trees. The forest covered everything from the coast of the Shivering Sea in the east to the peaks of the Frostfangs mountain range in the west which obscured the Lands of Always Winter where the snow never stopped falling and no man had ever returned from. Words could not describe what he felt at that moment, looking upon such savage and untamed grandeur.

“It's...beautiful.”

“Yes it is, my boy. There's nothing like it in the whole world.” At “whole world” Torrhen grimaced. As far as he knew, save for the Tournament at Harrenhal, Uncle Benjen had never left the North. And since he took his vows, the Wall was his whole world. “I know what you're thinking.”

“You do?”

“Indeed. But this is my world, Torrhen. The North is my home. The Wall is my home, and I wouldn't want it any other way.”

“The North is my home, too. But there is so much I want...need to see. I want to see the world, Uncle. Not just Westeros, but the entire world. I want to see the Free Cities, the Rhoyne, the Summer Isles, and everything in between! All of it!”

“I know. You've got the same wanderlust your great-grandfather Rodrik had. She had it, too.”

“Aunt Lyanna?”

“Yes. Out of all four of us, she was the wild one. She was more comfortable in armor with a sword in her hand than in a dress with a sewing needle. Father hated it; He wanted her to behave like a proper southern lady, if only to improve her marriage prospects.”

“She didn't agree with that, I imagine?”

“Not for a moment. Oh she tried, mind you. Just not very hard. Through all those smiles and courtesies, you could see the real Lyanna. Never afraid to speak her mind and go her own way.” Looking at his uncle, Torrhen could see his eyes cloud over as bittersweet memories of happier times came back, long pushed aside to focus on the present.

“You miss her?”

“I miss all of them; I miss my brother who always looked out for us, ready to defend us at the slightest provocation. I miss my father, for all the things I should have said and never did. I miss my mother, whom I watched waste away while I held Winterfell for your father. And I miss her, with all of her courage and passion. Women like her don't come into this world often and when they do, they leave too soon.”

“I'm sorry if I'm prying, Uncle.”

“Don't apologize. One of us should tell you these things and I know Ned's not much of a talker.” 

“He never likes to talk about the past. He barely even talks about what happened during the Greyjoy Rebellion. Most of what I hear about that war is from Theon. Heavily embellished, of course.”

“Of course. Growing up, everyone in Winterfell called Ned the Quiet Wolf and with good reason. He spoke very little but when he did, you listened.”

“I can believe that. Did Uncle Brandon have a nickname?”

“He was the Wild Wolf, Lyanna was the She-Wolf and I was…” He abruptly stopped, as if realizing he had already said too much. Torrhen wasn’t having that, of course.

“You were what?”

“The Pup.” At this, Torrhen burst out laughing with Benjen joining him. For several minutes their laughter rang out over the Haunted Forest.

“The Pup! Are you serious?”

“Sadly, yes. Strangely enough, it seemed to fit me.”

“I wonder if anyone will give nicknames to me and my siblings.”

“I’m sure someone will. Just be patient.” And with that no more was spoken. The two men let the winds fill the silence as they gazed out on the vast landscape.

“I’m glad we can have this moment. I’m enjoying myself.”

“So am I, Uncle. It’s a shame you can’t visit Winterfell more.”

“It is. But like I said before, the Wall is my home. And my work is out there.” He said, pointing his finger northward. “I’ll be leaving soon.”

“You’re leaving?”

“I have go looking for a ranging party that disappeared a few weeks ago. The same one Will was with.”

“The deserter my father executed.” Benjen nodded in reply.

“Same man. Ser Waymar Royce was leading the party, and he and the other Ranger haven’t been seen or heard from since they left Castle Black. I have to find them, alive or dead. Though dead is more likely.” He sighed with resignation as if this was common for him to see Rangers ride out only to be brought back slung over a horse, half frozen from the cold. Even after seventeen years, it probably didn’t get any easier.

“Is Jon going with you?” He asked, with a small tinge of fear creeping into his voice.

“No.”

“He won’t be happy about that.”

“Whether he’s happy or not doesn’t matter. He’s still a recruit with a lot to learn. He’s not ready for what’s out there, and just because he’s my nephew doesn’t mean he gets an easier ride.”

“I’ll have to admit, for a moment I thought it would.”

“Things work differently at the Wall. Here, you get what you earn when you earn it. Past deeds or family ties mean nothing here. True, men of nobility do have some advantage here but even men of low birth and no renown can make something of themselves here.”

“So how long will you be gone?”

“A few weeks, two months at most. Hopefully we'll find something before then, but I'm not so sure. Besides, there have also been reports.”

“What kind of reports?”

“The kind I really don't want to believe.” The edge in his voice betrayed his apprehension to Torrhen, so he decided to play his hand.

“Anything to do with the White Walkers?”

“Nothing for certain. Mostly movement among the wildling tribes.”

“Movement? Are they planning to attack?”

“I won't know until I get out there.” Benjen stated with an unpleasant finality, his shoulders lowered and his eyes closed.

'He doesn't want to go.' Torrhen thought to himself as he watched his uncle. He certainly couldn't blame him. This was summer in the rest of Westeros, and he would be in the freezing cold for two months. “You know, you can come visit Winterfell when you get back. We would be more than happy to have you with us again.”

“That's very kind of you. I wouldn't mind sitting in front of the hearth in the Great Hall. I would have to ask Lord Mormont.”

“As long as the Wall isn't under siege, I sure he could spare you for a few days.”

“You're probably right. But still, I will have to ask.” With a nod the two stood silently, gazing out on the endless white horizon. “Well, I better get back down. Lots to do before I go.”

“Should I come with you?”

“No need. You stay up here a while, enjoy the view. We'll talk later.” With a reassuring pat on the shoulder Benjen left Torrhen standing there, looking out on the vast expanse clutching Dark Sister's hilt tightly and offering a silent prayer to the Old Gods to watch over his uncle while Rhaegar let out a howl that rang across the forest and beyond as if offering a prayer himself.

(-)

As the lift descended, he saw Tyrion waiting for him at the bottom. Disembarking, he took each step slowly as if he was allowing himself to get reacquainted with solid ground. Rhaegar patted forward to greet Tyrion, who rubbed behind his ears much to his delight.

“I take it the view is worth the trip?”

“None like it in the Seven Kingdoms.” Torrhen said, grinning widely. “Going up?”

“No, just looking for you. Glad to see that Jon is taking our advice to heart.” Tyrion said gesturing to the now empty training yard. Slowly, the made their way over to the King's Tower.

“So am I. He looked...comfortable out there. Like he had a purpose. Maybe that's why he wanted to join. Here, he actually has something to give.”

“Let's hope you're right. So what did you and your uncle speak of?”

“Home, family, and the fact he's heading out beyond the Wall to look for a wayward ranging party from a few months back.”

“Good luck to him.” The warmth of the fireplace greeted them as they entered their room, with Rhaegar bounding up onto Torrhen's bed and laying down while keeping his head up to observe the two men. Tyrion pulled a wineskin from his saddle bag while Torrhen sat down, placed Dark Sister beside him and removed his boots to rub his feet, hoping to get some warmth back in them.

“What were you up to?” Torrhen asked while Tyrion grabbed two mugs from the nearby table and filled them both with wine.

“Having a rather enlightening...and depressing chat with Lord Commander Mormont and Maester Aemon.” Tyrion responded grimly before handing Torrhen a full mug, which he accepted graciously.

“What about?” Torrhen asked before drinking deeply. He noticed a spicy aftertaste in the wine. ‘Dornish?’ He asked himself before pulling his attention back to Tyrion. 

“Nothing good. The Night's Watch is undermanned and the days are growing shorter, which means that summer is coming to a close. And since this summer has lasted almost ten years...”

“Long summers give way to longer winters.”

“Correct. So, politely with a pinch of desperation, they have asked me to bring their case to the attention of King Robert. Though I doubt it will do any good; He barely listens to his Small Council, so why would he listen to his dwarf of a brother-in-law?”

“He might not listen to you...but he would listen to my father.” A grin covered his face as the idea took shape. “If the son of the Hand of the King were to come to King's Landing and personally inform him of the deplorable conditions, then he would have no choice but to bring the matter to the King personally.”

“Are you suggesting what I think you are suggesting?”

“It would give me the chance to see my father and sisters, and enjoy the wonders of the capital.”

“I definitely could show you a few wonders they don't speak of in polite society.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.” Torrhen responded, while Tyrion’s face broke out into a grin of his own as he imagined all sorts of mischief.

“Well then, a toast. To a successful journey. May the wine never stop flowing, the brothels never close and our mortal forms never tire.”

“I will drink to that.” The two men knocked their tankards together, forming a silent pact, before drinking deeply. “Is this Dornish wine?”

“Yes, actually. You know your wine.”

“Not really, I was just guessing. But it’s really good.”

“There is even better waiting for us in the cellars of the Red Keep, I can promise you that.”

“I’ll hold you to that, my friend.”

“Of course you can. A Lannister always pays his debts. By the way, while I was speaking with maester Aemon I couldn’t help but notice how he spoke about you. Apparently, he thinks very highly of you.”

“Really?” Tyrion nodded. “Well, I think very highly of him. He’s like the grandfather I never had, since I haven’t seen my mother’s father since I was a baby and my father’s father…well you know that story.”

“I do, sadly. I never knew my grandfather, the late Lord Tytos, either. He died before I was born. The story I’m told is that his heart failed him as he climbed the stairs to his chambers to visit his mistress.” Tyrion said, chuckling lightly.

“Good a way to go as any, I imagine.” Torrhen grinned as he thought of it.

“Not if you’re an old man and almost as fat as Aegon the Unworthy.” Tyrion added and Torrhen grimaced as the image came to mind.

“I think I need more wine.”

“I think we both do.”

(-)

Two days later, Torrhen walked to Aemon’s chamber for the last time. Yoren was heading to King’s Landing to scour the dungeons and alleys for new recruits and both he and Tyrion were accompanying him. He had already said his goodbyes to Benjen, who had left the day before, and Jon, who was on top of the Wall with Tyrion right now. He had even spoken with Lord Commander Mormont, promising to speak with his father on behalf of the Watch. Aemon was the last and probably the most difficult. Torrhen had grown very fond of him and was afraid that this might be the last time they ever spoke. Unable to put it off any longer, he rapped his knuckles on the door. The door opened to reveal Chett, a steward of the Watch and Aemon's caretaker. Torrhen involuntarily grimaced as he looked on this young man whose face was pockmarked with boils and a rather large cyst on the left side of his neck.

“Yes?”

“I'm here to see maester Aemon. Is he awake?”

“He is. I'll tell him you're here.”

“No need, Chett. Come in, my boy.” Chett stood aside and allowed Torrhen to enter. Aemon was sitting by the fireplace. “Leave us, Chett.” With a nod he departed, closing the door behind. “Take a seat.”  
Torrhen sat down next to him, placing Dark Sister next to him. As he did, he saw Aemon holding something wrapped in cloth on his lap. He was holding it gently, as if with reverence. “You are leaving tonight, yes?”

“Yes. Yoren is heading south for new recruits and Tyrion and I will be joining him.”

“I see. It’s a shame that you must leave. I must declare that I have become used to having you around in the short time we have had together.”

“I feel the same. I will miss our conversations.”

“All the same, this is your path and it would not be right of me to try and divert you. However, I’m afraid I can’t let you leave empty-handed.”

“Aemon, you don’t have to give me any…”

“Hush, my boy. Let me finish.” Torrhen immediately shut his mouth and looked on patiently. “After you allowed me to hold Dark Sister one more time, I knew it was time for me to give this to someone who would use it properly.” He picked up the bundle and extended it to Torrhen, who took it gently from Aemon's frail hands. Torrhen slowly unwrapped it to reveal a scabbard made of ironwood and gilded steel with a sword belt of rich, black leather. It was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship.

“Dark Sister's scabbard.” Torrhen whispered.

“The second one, actually. The first one was lost after the Dance of the Dragons since Prince Daemon used it and his body was never found. This scabbard was made by House Forrester on the order of Lord Cregan Stark as a gift to Aegon III. And now it is yours.” as he slowly stood up and fastened the belt around his waist. It fit him well, after some minor adjustments. Picking up the sword, he slowly sheathed it until a satisfying click signaled the that blade was all the way in. He released a breath his didn't know he was holding. “How does it feel?”

“Good. Very good. Like it belongs. But I don't know how I could accept such a gift.”

“I do. Repeat after me: Thank you.” Torrhen chuckled at this, admitting that Aemon was quite right.

“Thank you. I will treasure this, and I promise to tell my father all that I have seen here. You have my word. But...”

“But what?” Torrhen returned to his seat next to Aemon, interlacing his fingers and rubbing his thumbs together.

“But what if they can't do anything? Even if we gave my father detailed testimony, I doubt he could do anything except send out a summons for knights who could be persuaded to volunteer. And the likelihood of that is the same as finding snow in Dorne.”

“That is possible. However, I find that in such situations the best thing anyone can do is simply have faith in themselves and what they intend to do.”

“I wish I could believe as strongly as you do.”

“Faith comes in many forms. You will find yours when you are ready for it.”

“I certainly hope you're right.”

“I certainly hope so, too.” A comfortable silence followed as the two men enjoyed the warmth of the fire, needing no words.

“Well, I should be going. Tyrion and Yoren are probably waiting for me. Thank you again for the gift.” He rose and began to walk to the door.

“Torrhen, wait. There is something I must say.” That stopped him dead. He turned to see Aemon slowly rising from his chair to face him. “As you know, our order prohibits us from marriage and children. In order that we might pursue our duty to the Watch without...distraction. In all my years of service, I have never regretted that decision. Until now. I would like think that if I had married and had a son of my own that he would have been just like you.” Suddenly, Torrhen felt his eyes begin to water. No one had ever said something like that to him. Ever.

“That's funny. A couple of days ago I told Tyrion that I thought of you as the grandfather I never had.” Aemon smiled at this and shuffled forward, laying his hands on Torrhen's shoulders.

“What a pair we make. Well then, would you allow an old man one indulgence?”

“Anything.”

“Let me embrace you as a father would a son.” The two men came together, hugging tightly. Torrhen fought to both keep from squeezing Aemon too hard and tears from spilling.

'This is how my grandfather hugs me.' He thought as they stood there. Two men who were both missing something vital in their lives that they had never thought of until this moment. Slowly, they parted until they were at arm's length. Torrhen saw tears in Aemon's eyes.

“So that's what it feels like. Thank you, Torrhen Stark. You've made an old man very happy.”

“Likewise. Well, I should probably get going. Tyrion and Yoren are probably waiting for me. Thank you again for the scabbard...and the hug. I hope our paths cross again.”

“I'm certain they will.” Another embraced was shared between them, with no more words needed. Torrhen then turned towards the door, opened it and walked out into the cold. He did not look back once.

(-)

His timing couldn't have been better. The horses were ready and Tyrion had just emerged from the lift. Silently the two men made their way to their mounts, not really needing a reason to talk, but Tyrion did make a grunt of interest and approval at Torrhen's new scabbard to which Torrhen nodded. At the stables, Torrhen scratched behind Rhaegar's ears and brushed Swiftwind's mane slowly, feeling his mount's need to get back out and run after so many days inside.

“You ready, boy?” A snort of confirmation was his response. With practiced grace, he swung himself up and gathered the reins. With a gentle nudge on his flanks, the destrier ambled towards the gate following the others. Before he passed through he looked back up at the Wall, wondering if Jon was looking down at the same time. Turning away with a silent farewell, he kicked Swiftwind into a gallop through the gate and down the Kingsroad with Rhaegar bounding close behind. He joined the others and silently prayed that between here and King's Landing, nothing would go wrong.


	11. Fond Hopes and False Courtesies

After spending a night in Mole's Town, the next few weeks were uneventful as they crossed the Last River and passed Long Lake until they made their last camp at the southern edge of the Wolfswood. The next morning they would ride until they reached Winterfell. Torrhen couldn't believe it as he looked out on the road. This had been the longest time and furthest distance from home he had ever been and soon he would be going even further and for much longer.

"My uncle Tygett once said that when a man has something to say and yet says nothing, the silence can be deafening."

"Do you really believe that?"

"Not really, but it seemed like the right to say. Something profound." Torrhen laughed, grateful for Tyrion breaking the ice once again.

"Of course."

"So what is on your mind, my northern friend?"

"Quite a lot, actually. I don't know where to start."

"My uncle Gerion said that it's easy to explain anything if you start at the beginning."

"Your uncles seem like very wise men."

"They were."

"Were?"

"Tygett died of the pox when I was still a child and Gerion disappeared almost ten years ago. He wanted to sail to Old Valyria to find Brightroar, the Lannister's Valyrian blade and whatever treasures remained from the Doom. The men my father sent after him got as far as Volantis before they lost his trail."

"I'm sorry."

"So am I. Out of all my family, my uncles were the only ones who were ever really kind to me. I remember how Gerion would reward me whenever I recited a historical fact correctly and how he supported me whenever I did cartwheels across the dinner table in the Great Hall."

"Not something I would expect a son of Tywin Lannister to do."

"Which is exactly why I did it; it made father furious and my uncle laugh. But now only my uncle Kevan is left but he is my father's man, through and through."

"But at least you still have him, right?"

"I do, but let's get back to my question. What is on your mind?"

"I'm just wondering how I'm going to explain all of this back home. It almost feels like I'm…coming out of a very vivid dream."

"I'm sure you'll find the right words, especially for the youngest two. It's easy to explain things to children, since they don't know any better."

"True. Maybe I'll be too busy just being happy to see Bran awake to worry about the details. It's strange to think he'll never walk again."

"Well, like I told your brother Jon, if he's going to be a cripple at least he will be a rich cripple. If he was a peasant they would probably leave him for the wolves."

"Just like you, I imagine."

"Correct. Alas, we were born to higher stations. But I have learned to make the most of my circumstances. Just as your brother will. Speaking of which, there is something I would like you to look at." The two men turned back to the camp site where Yoren was regaling Jyck and Morrec, Tyrion's escorts, with yet another tale of something disgusting he ate while out ranging years before. Both men looked rather unsettled, which brought a grin to Torrhen's face. With a nod to them, he followed Tyrion to the horses and watched as he rummaged through his saddle bag and withdrew a rolled up piece of parchment. "Open it and tell me what you think."

Taking the scroll, he unwrapped it to find various drawings relating to the construction of a saddle. As he studied it, he saw that this saddle was fitted with back and leg braces so that the rider would be able to stay upright and centered while stationary and in motion.

"Is this what I think it is?"

"It is. I started work on it after the raven arrived from Winterfell. The trick will be to have the mount respond to commands through the reins and the voice of the rider instead of the legs."

"You couldn't do that with a full grown horse."

"No, but a yearling could work."

"I think we have one. One of our mares was in foal last year and the filly she had might just old enough for this. I'll speak to the master of horse when we arrive, although it won't be Hullen. He went south with Father."

"I'm sure whoever it is will be more than happy to help. What's wrong?" Tyrion asked as he saw Torrhen's eyes water. He handed the scroll back and quickly wiped his eyes.

"Nothing, nothing's wrong. It's just…that is probably the greatest gift anyone could ever give him and it's so ironic that it comes from someone who until three months ago never even met him."

"My brother said that it would be a mercy to have him put out of his misery." Torrhen's eyes widened and he gripped Dark Sister's hilt tightly as anger welled inside him. "I found myself in complete disagreement with him. Death has too much finality to it, while life in all forms is full of possibility. I'm sure Prince Aemon told you something along those lines."

"He did actually. In fact, he said…what did you say?" Torrhen looked at his friend with a mixture of bewilderment and fear.

"Prince Aemon, son of Maekar the First. Or was I mistaken?"

"How did you know?"

"Well, it's not that hard for anyone who knows how to read and where to look. Prince Aemon Targaryen disappeared from the histories after the Great Council of 233 AC along with Brynden Rivers, the former Hand of the King. So when I meet a certain Maester Aemon, I made the connection. It's quite a find, actually. A living, breathing Targaryen still in Westeros.

"It is, though I doubt he would call himself a prince anymore. It's possible he never liked the titles, anyway."

"How ironic that common men wish to be princes and princes wish to be anything else."

"So...are you going to tell anyone?" Fear crept into his voice. As much as he wanted to believe that his friend was better than that, there was the possibility that he might tell Robert to somehow improve his standing.

"For what purpose? He's blind, almost a hundred years old and sworn to the Watch. I don't believe that my dear brother-in-law would seriously consider him a threat to his rule, despite his hatred of the Targaryen's."

"I suppose you're right"

"I usually am. Now let's see what new adventures Yoren has concocted for us."

"And new delicacies." The two grimaced and laughed at the thought. "Tyrion, have you ever been in love?" Torrhen had this question on his mind ever since they left Winterfell and now he felt was the time to ask. But the shaken look on Tyrion's face surprised him. Up until now, he had always appeared to have the

"Why do you ask?"

"Well, I've never been in love before and since you're older than me I thought maybe you might know."

"Does this have anything to do with that innkeeper?"

"Her name is Della, and yes. I…I think I like her, but I don't know for sure. So have you been in love before?" As he asked he could see Tyrion's face darken as if the question dug up painful memories which had, until now, been safely buried.

"I thought I was. Once. Seems like a lifetime since then." A far-away look in his eyes made Torrhen realize that he might have gone too far. "Torrhen, there will be a time when I can tell you that story. But I hope you will forgive me if I say that time is not now."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry."

"No, you have committed no fault against me. I just...feel that right now is not the appropriate time to unlock that chest of memories. I will tell you, I promise. But for now, I ask for your patience."

"You have it."

"Good, now let us sit by the fire. I don't know what it is about you northern types, but I am freezing!" He exclaimed with a grin as he wrapped his cloak all the tighter around him. As he walked to the fire Torrhen could see that while his grin was genuine, his eyes still had the same pained look. He felt Rhaegar nudge his leg and looked down to see the wolf looking up at him, his red eyes full of concern.

"You know, boy, I think I know what heartbreak looks like now." He said softly, rubbing behind his ears. Joining the others by the fire, he couldn't stop wondering what kind of woman could cause such heartache to his friend. Well, Tyrion had asked for patience and he had given it. All he could do now was wait.

(-)

Home. He was finally home. Torrhen was almost in disbelief that he was, after two months, finally seeing Winterfell again. It was just as he remembered it with its high walls and round towers, a formidable and yet welcome sight.

"Quite a sight, isn't it?"

"Yes it is, though I'm sure it's no Casterly Rock."

"This is true, although I find the people living in a castle are more important than the castle's size. People who live in very large castles tend to have…rather large egos. Your family being the exception, of course."

"I appreciate that. My family is many things, but I've never thought egotistical to be one of them."

"That's for the best."

"Well, my friends, how does a hot meal and a warm bed sound to you?" The four companions all made noises of encouragement. Even Rhaegar barked happily. "Alright then. On to Winterfell!" Kicking Swiftwind's flanks he took off in a gallop, whooping and hollering with joy. Rhaegar bounded along beside him while the others tried to keep pace. As they raced down the well-worn path, Torrhen had a smile on his face that could outshine the sun. For this moment, all was well. He was alive and happy, in the company of friends and coming home. And there was so much to do: the stories he would tell Bran and Rickon, the looks of awe from everyone when he showed them Dark Sister, seeing Della again and much more! But then, as the party neared the main gate, something changed. He pulled on the reigns, bringing Swiftwind to an abrupt halt while Rhaegar overshot and had to double back, confusion all over his face.

"Are you alright? What's wrong?" Tyrion asked as he came alongside him with the others keeping a respectful distance.

"I…I don't know. All of a sudden it felt like all the warmth around me was just snatched away." He said, looking upwards to see that the library tower was damaged in some way. "Something bad happened here, or will happen. Do you know what I mean, Tyrion?"

"I do, Torrhen. I know that feeling all too well." Tyrion said with just drop of venom in his voice. 'Must have something to do with his lost love.' Torrhen thought quietly and then, remembering they were not alone, signaled to continue onward. At a brisk trot, the five entered Winterfell in silence while the hairs rose on the back of Torrhen's neck. He was looking for…What? Knives in the dark, or something more sinister?

(-)

"I must say I received a slightly warmer welcome on my last visit." Tyrion said as he and Yoren stood before Robb and Maester Luwin in the great hall. Robb sat at the center of the high table while Luwin sat to Robb's right and Torrhen to his left while Grey Wind and Rhaegar reclined in front, ears up and eyes open. From the moment the five travelers had dismounted to now, there had been an air of unease and hostility and Torrhen couldn't for the life of him figure out why everyone seemed to be on edge.

"Any man of the Night's Watch is welcome at Winterfell." Robb called out in his best impression of a stern, northern lord while Yoren politely nodded.

"Any man of the Night's Watch but not I, eh boy?" Tyrion asked with characteristic smugness while Torrhen tried not to grin too widely.

"I'm not your boy, Lannister. I'm Lord of Winterfell while my father is in the south." Robb said with barely concealed scorn. 'He says Lannister like it's a curse.' Torrhen thought. 'But why?"

"Then perhaps you should learn a lord's courtesy. Your brother is quite adept in that field, I can assure you." A quick nod was all that was needed to acknowledge the compliment, but then all eyes went to the lumbering form of Hodor as he entered the hall carrying in his arms a most precious bundle followed closely by Theon. "So it's true."

"BRAN!" Torrhen shouted as he bounded over to his brother, taking him in his arms and holding him tightly. He felt Bran's arms come around his neck, further reinforcement that his brother was indeed alive and awake. "How I have missed you!"

"I missed you, too." Bran said into Torrhen's neck, holding on as tightly as possible.

"My lord…" Luwin interrupted as politely as possible, at which point Torrhen realized that he was putting a great deal of strain on his little brother's arms and gently returned him to Hodor's support. He gave Summer's ears a good rub and then moved to stand alongside Tyrion, who looked Bran dead in the eye.

"Hello Bran. Do you remember me?" He nodded. "Do you remember anything about what happened?"

"He has no memory of that day." Luwin replied with a great deal of disappointment.

"Curious." Torrhen had to agree with him. It would have been nice to know just what it was that caused the fall, if only to understand Robb and Luwin's hostility toward his friend.

"Why are you here?" Robb said, with frustration and impatience in his voice. Torrhen held his tongue, not trusting himself to keep his words civil at his brother's growing disrespect. But he also noticed that Tyrion paid no mind to his brother's questioning. Or if he did, he was doing a very good job at hiding it.

"Would your charming companion be so kind as to kneel? I'm afraid my neck is beginning to hurt."

"Kneel, Hodor." At Bran's command, the gentle giant went down on one knee and brought Bran to eye-level with Tyrion.

"Do you like to ride, Bran?"

Yes. Well, I mean I did like to."

"The boy has lost the use of his legs." Luwin's declaration had Torrhen looking at him with a look that clearly said 'no shit'. But as before, Tyrion gave no indication of annoyance.

"What of it? With the right horse and saddle, even a cripple can ride."

"I'm not a cripple." Bran said defiantly.

"Then I'm not a dwarf. My father will rejoice to hear it." Tyrion declared with unparalleled sarcasm while Torrhen bit back a laugh. "I have a gift for you. Give this to your saddler and he will provide the rest." He removed from his cloak the scroll containing his saddle designs and gave it to Bran. "You must shape the horse to the rider. Start with a yearling and teach to respond to the reins and the boy's voice." Tyrion addressed Luwin while Torrhen looked at Robb while Bran studied the designs.

"Will I really be able to ride?"

"You will. On horseback you'll be as tall as any of them." Torrhen smiled as Tyrion said this. He knew people, and giving that sort of encouragement to a ten-year old boy who would never walk again was like handing him a gold dragon. But then Robb had to go and ruin it.

"Is this a trick? Why do you want to help him?"

"Enough! He brings our brother a gift and you ask why? Seven fucking hells, Robb!"

"He is a Lannister, Torrhen! A fact you seem to have forgotten!"

"And what you have forgotten is how to behave like a good host! If father was here…"

"Father is not here! I am, and you will show me the proper respect!"

"I will show you the proper respect when you earn it!"

"ENOUGH!" Tyrion's voice rang through the hall, startling everyone. "The sons of the great Eddard Stark squabbling like children over a toy. I expected more from both of you." Torrhen cast his eyes downward, realizing his folly while Robb was lost for words. "Now to answer your previous question. Let's just say I have a tender spot in my heart for cripples, bastards and broken things." He looked at Bran, who smiled with cautious optimism.

"You have done my brother a kindness. My…apologies and the hospitality of Winterfell is yours." Robb declared, quite humbly. Torrhen, too, was humbled. He had raised his voice against his own brother. For good reasons, but still a grievous mistake on his part.

"I accept your apology, Lord Stark, but I cannot accept your hospitality. I am old enough to know false courtesy when I see it. Now there is a brothel outside your walls where I can find a soft bed and both of us can sleep easier." With a curt bow he turned to leave the hall, motioning to Jyck and Morrec to follow.

"Tyrion!" Torrhen called after him. "Don't go, please!"

"I'm afraid I should, my friend. My presence would only sour the mood."

"But…"

"Your brothers need you. I'll see you tomorrow." Motioning for Torrhen to kneel, he leaned in close to his ear. "I'll be sure to let Della know you have come home." With a quick pat on the shoulder, Tyrion and his men departed for the stables and left Torrhen standing there quietly.

"Clear the room. I need to speak to my brother. Maester Luwin, you and Theon stay. Hodor, take Bran back to his room." Within a few moments, everyone save for Torrhen, Robb, Luwin and Theon remained in the hall. Following the ringing of closed doors, only the crackling of the flames in the hearth remained.

"Well now that we're alone…"

"Before you speak, Robb, let me go first. I behaved inappropriately and I apologize for my outburst. But Tyrion is my friend and since he arrived you have treated him with nothing but contempt and scorn. Now I want to know why." His piece said, he waited patiently for Robb's excuse for his behavior. He watched Robb silently rise from his seat, walk to where he stood and look him in the eyes. But when he opened his mouth, Torrhen's eyes widened in horror.

"Someone tried to kill Bran."


	12. Brotherly Love and Rekindled Passions

The bubbling waters of Winterfell's underground hot springs mirrored Torrhen's chaotic mind as he thought over what Robb and Luwin had told him. They had revealed that someone had lit a fire in the library tower to distract the household so that they could slip into Bran's room and slit his throat. However, the assassin had not anticipated that Lady Catelyn would be there and that she would put up a fight. Nor did he anticipate a young direwolf tearing his throat out. Afterwards, evidence was found that possibly implicated the Lannisters in not only the attempt on Bran's life but also the death of Jon Arryn. In a misguided desire for justice, she traveled south to King's Landing with only Ser Rodrik as an escort. Despite all of this, however, Torrhen refused to believe that Tyrion had anything to do with these incidents and believed that the only reason for any accusation against him was due to his surname. After accusing them both of slander and baseless accusation he stormed off. But now, as he sat in the bubbling waters, he began to wonder if his outburst was entirely justified. He had never raised his voice to Robb like that in his entire life and the feeling that spread through his stomach left him feeling ill. He didn't like fighting with his family, especially now when such quarrels were the last thing House Stark needed. He looked over to Rhaegar, sitting patiently by the pool.

"Any ideas, boy?" A soft whine was his only response. "Thanks, anyway." He said as rose from the pool, sucking air in as the cold air hit his body. He liked that feeling, since it meant he was still awake and alive. Fetching his towel and fresh clothes from a nearby bench, he dried himself off and dressed, strapping Dark Sister on last. He never liked having servants waiting on him, especially while bathing. He preferred privacy, save for Rhaegar. No matter what, they went was strange, but then again these were strange times. But what to do about Robb? This question rattled around his brain like a sparrow in a cage as he walked to his room with Rhaegar padding along. Finally, he reached his room and breathed a sigh of relief to be back in familiar and comfortable surroundings. It felt good to be back, after two months, among his books and trinkets. His saddle bags had been brought up to his rooms while he bathed and were waiting at the foot of his bed. As he started unpacking Rhaegar leapt onto his bed and settled into his familiar spot, through Torrhen couldn't help but notice with a smile how much bigger he was since King Robert's visit. "You and your siblings grow up so fast." He exclaimed, rubbing behind the wolf's ears. "In a few years, I might even be able to ride you." Rhaegar barked in reply, though Torrhen couldn't be sure it meant "Please do!" or "Don't you dare". Suddenly a knock at the door drew his attention. "Who is it?"

"It's Robb. May I come in?" After a moment of tension so thick you could cut it with a knife, Torrhen walked over and slowly opened the door to reveal his brother standing there. "Well?"

"As you please, my lord." With a dramatic flourish he waved Robb in, closing the door behind him.

"You're certainly easier on the eyes now, brother. Especially on the nose." Robb said with a small chuckle, which Torrhen did not return. He wasn't in the mood for jokes.

"What do you want, Robb?"

"I...I came to apologize."

"Apologize? For what?"

"You know what. I behaved in a manner that father would have disapproved of. Lord Tyrion didn't deserve the treatment I gave him. It's just things here have been so stressful and almost everyone has been on edge, myself most of all." A long pause settled between the two brothers as they both struggled to find the right words. Robb found them first. "I'm not a good Lord of Winterfell, am I?"

"Don't say that Robb! No one expected any of this to happen and you've been doing the best job you can. I'm...I'm sorry, too. For losing my temper with you. It was wrong of me to behave that way, especially in front of Bran. The last thing he needs is his older brothers quarreling."

"Why don't we both say we're sorry and behaved like idiots? Why don't we start over properly?"

"I can agree to that." Torrhen said with a chuckle.

"In that case…" Robb came over and the two brothers embraced tightly, with all the tension in the room evaporating suddenly. "Welcome home, brother."

"It's good to be home."

"Now, are you hungry?"

"Oh, absolutely starving!" With a laugh they left for the Great Hall, Rhaegar padding behind. Unpacking could wait. "So when is Mother expected to return?"

"I don't know for certain. A few weeks, possibly. She should have left King's Landing by now."

"What do you think Father will recommend...if House Lannister is responsible, as you and the others believe?"

"I don't know. I honestly don't know."

"War?" Robb's face took on a terrified appearance, as if he had never really considered that possibility before now.

"I hope not. Only the Lord of Winterfell can call the bannermen and raise an army. I...I don't know if I can do that." Torrhen grimaced as his brother spoke. Not even twenty and he just might have to lead an army, possibly into a full-scale war. Young men shouldn't be leading armies, he thought; they come back broken men or not at all. Just ask King Daeron Targaryen, the "Young Dragon" who conquered Dorne before he was fifteen and died trying to hold it before he was twenty, leaving behind no heirs and sixty thousand corpses.

"Well as long as neither side does anything to provoke the other, I'm sure you won't have to."

"I hope you're right. Now enough depressing talk, we need to get some dinner and you need to tell me and the others where you got that." He said, throwing an arm over Torrhen's shoulder and pointing inquisitively toward Dark Sister's hilt.

"Well you are in for quite a story." He said with a grin as they entered the hall. To his surprise, one of the smaller tables was being used. Bran, Rickon and Theon were already seated with Shaggydog, Summer and Grey Wind sitting patiently by the fire. "What's this?"

"I thought the occasion called for more...intimate company." Robb said, moving to take his place at the head of the table. Torrhen clasped Theon's hand followed by the biggest bear hugs for Bran and Rickon before taking his seat on Robb's left while Rhaegar joined his siblings. On cue, servants carrying jugs of wine and water along with plates of food entered. Torrhen struggled to refrain from drooling as portions were served and wine was poured. He may have never lacked for a solid meal at Castle Black, but nothing could even come close to what came out of the kitchens of WInterfell.

"While you were bathing, Septon Chayle gave me his latest report on the library tower. He said that the majority of debris has finally been removed and he was finally able to do an inspection."

"Nothing valuable was lost, I trust?"

"A few ledgers were lost, nothing more. After all the fire was meant to distract, not destroy." Torrhen nodded in understanding of recent events as he devoured a venison pie, feeling the juices run down his fingers. Looking at his younger brothers, he noticed how distant they seemed; Bran ate slowly, as if he was merely going through the motions instead of enjoying his food and Rickon simply pushed his food around and looked like someone who wanted to be anywhere but here. They did smile, but their eyes were distant. 'They must be worried about Mother', he thought.

"Well that is good news. I'll be sure to tell Father when I see him."

"See him? When?"

"Oh, right! I forgot to mention it." He exclaimed, mouth full of steak and kidney pie. Remembering his manners, he washed it down with wine and wiped his face before continuing. "I've been asked by Lord Commander Mormont and Maester Aemon to convey requests from the Night's Watch to Father and King Robert. They need more of...well, everything. Food, supplies, weapons, men, especially men."

"It's that bad up there?"

"Worse. They have less than a thousand men for three out of nineteen castles. They need help and support desperately. Mormont believes that the only man who can convince King Robert to take a more proactive stance is Father. So I am going to go with Tyrion to add my voice to his and hopefully he will understand how serious the situation is. But we can discuss it later, because right now I want to hear from my two favorite little brothers on what they have been up to!" Only silence followed until Theon chimed in.

"Bran hardly comes out of his room and Rickon cries all the time."

"Theon!" Robb said sharply.

"Where's Mother?" Rickon said softly. Torrhen could barely see the tears in his eyes.

"Robb, I'm sorry. I have to tell him." Robb had a look of panic on their faces, silently pleading with Torrhen to not reveal the truth. Theon had an slightly amused expression, curious where this would lead. But Torrhen ignored them both. "Brandon, Rickon...Mother's in Riverrun."

"Riverrun?"

"Yes, Brandon. While you were sleeping, Mother received a raven from Uncle Edmure. Grandfather is very sick and might not last until winter. He wanted to have his children with him before...the end. That why she and Ser Rodrik left. But once I leave King's Landing I will go to Riverrun and the three of us will come home together. I promise." With that, the tension in the room seemed to evaporate and smiles returned to the boys faces. Robb relaxed visibly and Theon smirked. "Now, do you boys want to see this?" He inquired, drawing Dark Sister and displaying it before the wide eyes of his siblings and Theon as they watch the torchlight play over the ripples on the blade..

"Where did you find such a beauty?" Theon asked, his eyes full of envy.

"It was buried in the root of a massive weirwood tree at the northern end of the Wolfswood. It was left there by Brynden Rivers nearly sixty years ago."

"Bloodraven? The sorcerer?" Bran asked, not doubt recalling the name from one of Old Nan's stories about Ser Duncan the Tall.

"That's the one. He must have left it there for a reason."

"My uncle Harras of House Harlaw has a sword just like that. Nightfall, he calls it."

"I have heard of it. It is a fine blade, but not a legendary one." Torrhen declared, holding the weapon with reverence. "This is the sword of Queens and Princes, men and women who changed the world. And now it's mine."

"Well I can't think of a better person to have such a prize. You better take good care of that. Valyrian steel is not easy to come by."

"Oh I will, Robb. Rest assured, I will." He declared, sliding the blade back into the ironwood scabbard with a comforting click. After that, the rest of the dinner continued in a more relaxed mood as the five boys slipped back into familiar roles. For those few hours, they allowed themselves the illusion that all was right with the world. They pretended that summer would last forever and everything bad in the world would have the decency to stay far away from the walls of Winterfell. But despite all their efforts at make-believe, the elders at the table could still see the storm clouds gathering and they silently prayed that the winds would carry them off. That of course depended on forces which were, at the moment, beyond their control.

(-)

Torrhen not so much walked as stumbled into his room, the space seeming to rise and fall like the waves of the Narrow Sea.

"Too...much...wine." He weakly said to no one, the mere effort of forming words and sounds sent spears of pain into Torrhen's head, which clutched while moaning loudly. With labored effort he closed the door and made his way over to his washbasin, placing Dark Sister under the bed, while Rhaegar jumped up on the covers quietly observing his master and watching the door while he gnawed on a chicken bone. Filing it to the brim with cold water, he gripped the sides and plunged his head in. After a few moments of immersion he pulled himself up with a gasp while water cascaded off his head. He blindly grabbed a nearby towel and set about vigorously drying himself. No longer feeling as sluggish as before the pain in his skull remained, though muted in intensity. Slowly, he sat on the bed and began to disrobe. In his wine-addled mind, this was as difficult as raising the Wall. His boots felt like they were full of mud as he struggled to remove them and the knots to his doublet seemed far too small for his fingers. Removing his shirt after what seemed like an eternity, he involuntarily winced as a loud knock emanated from the door. "Yes, what is it?" Torrhen said in his best noble tone, annoyed but attempting to remain polite.

"Apologies, my lord. I've brought extra wood for the fireplace." The woman on the other side replied while Torrhen rubbed his face with both hands.

"Very well. Come in, then." He called out, face still in his hands, and the door creaked open. "Close the door behind you, please." The creaking was then replaced by the padding of soft shoes across the floor and the brief sound of thudding wood. He raised his head to see her outlined by the firelight. She looked familiar to him, but he couldn't place her...

"Will there be anything else, my lord?"

"No, you may go."

"Are you sure? Perhaps I could keep you…" She shrugged off her dress and shoes and turned around to face him, wearing nothing but a smile, "company.". His eyes widened at the sight, then widened further at the realization of who she was.

"Della!" He stood up, then wobbled slightly from moving too fast. "What are you…" His question was cut off as she strode over to him and wrapped her arms around his neck while covering his lips with her own, smothering him with passion. In an instant, the wine-induced fog that enveloped his mind was gone and replaced with an overwhelming desire for the woman standing before him. Slowly, he placed his hands on her hips and pulled her closer which brought a moan from her mouth into his. After what seemed like an eternity, the two lovers pulled away and looked at each other with lustful eyes.

"I hope you enjoyed that as much as I did." Della declared, while running her hands through Torrhen's hair with an enormous grin. Rhaegar, seemingly knowing where this exchange was leading, relocated to the front of the fireplace and continued to chew his bone while the lovers reacquainted themselves.

"That was...incredible. But what are you doing here?"

"Kyra can manage the tavern for the night. Once Lord Tyrion told me you were back, I had to see you."

"But how did you know which room was mine? I've been in the Great Hall this whole time..." Torrhen asked, trying to not be distracted by the feel of her fingers playing over his scalp. "Of course! The wash basin!"

"One thing you learn running an inn is how to be observant. I made my way into Winterfell acting like a member of the staff, followed the motions, made myself useful and there you have it." She finished with a wink and started running her fingers across his chest, feeling the outline.

"You are incredible. Do you know that?" Cupping her face in his hands, he was amazed by this woman. He couldn't think of any other woman he knew that would do such a thing, and he loved it.

"I've been told. Now, no more talking." She lightly shoved Torrhen back on the bed, climbing on top of him. "I've missed you."

(-)

"Gods, that was...that was...how do words describe...that?" Torrhen panted as he lay in bed wrapped in both the bed-covers and Della's warm body.

"Do we need words?" She purred as her fingers danced across his chest. The last hour had been almost of blur of mutual passion that had been denied for far, far too long. Flesh was kissed, bit, caressed, groped and fondled; nothing was off limits and everything was wonderful. For a time they stopped being two separate beings, so powerful was their desire for each other. What followed was a well-earned respite where the two lovers relaxed in each others arms and allowed the passion and their bodies to cool. At least temporarily, of course.

"No, I suppose we don't." Torrhen decided as he pulled her closer and laying a kiss on her head, taking a moment to breathe her scent. "Gods, I missed you."

"I missed you, too. Quite a bit, actually."

"I could tell." He declared while she lightly swatted him in response.

"I'm serious. Since you've been gone I haven't taken anyone to my bed. I've thought about you constantly and when Lord Tyrion told me that you had returned I had a hell of a time keeping myself composed. By the grin he had I think he knew, the little sod."

"Well, if we are being honest, I thought about you every day that I was at Castle Black. You kept me from going crazy up there."

"What's it like at the Wall?"

"Cold and grim. Hardly anyone smiles up there."

"Can't say I'm all that surprised. Horrible weather, bad food and cruel discipline. Throw in no women and you have a recipe for disaster."

"Actually, the food was quite good. But you are right about the rest. I can't imagine that there are people in Westeros who would willingly join the Night's Watch. My uncle never told me why he joined, but I think that after my Grandmother died and my father became Lord of Winterfell he didn't feel like he belonged here anymore." Suddenly, the train of thought was interrupted by the unmistakable whining of Rhaegar at his side of the bed. Without hesitation, he disengaged himself from Della and rose from the bed. Taking care to stretch first, he led Rhaegar to the door and opened it just enough for the wolf to leap out into the corridor and race for the courtyard before closing it again.

"Is he all right?" He turned to see Della sitting up, her bare form displayed for his pleasure. Of course, he was unintentionally doing the same for her.

"He's fine. Just going to do his business and then go for a run in the woods. He'll be back in the morning, just time to destroy a whole chicken I'll have ready for him."

"He must love you."

"He does. And I love him." He walked over to Della and sat next to her, suddenly being enveloped by her soft arms. "I can't imagine not having him in my life. He's like a part of me that I didn't even know I was missing. Is that strange?"

"Not at all. I am of the belief that there is still...power in the North. A kind of power that you only read about in books or hear from storytellers."

"I know those stories. About the Children of the Forest, the Wargs and Greenseers who could enter the minds of animals or see the future. Old Nan used to tell Robb and I those stories "

"My grandmother told the same stories to me before bedtime when I was very young; how the Children sang the Song of the Earth and carved the faces of their gods into the weirwood trees. Before the First Men came, followed by the Andals, who killed them all and cut down their trees. I always cried at that part. I just...couldn't understand why they could do such things."

"I suppose the best explanation is that people are stupid." They both laughed at this simple, but quite correct, answer. "Speaking of weirwoods, would you like to see what I found in one?" A curious nod answered that question. He reached over to his side of the bed and reached under when suddenly he felt teeth on his backside. "Ah!" He turned his head to see Della's mischievous smile. "Behave yourself, my lady, or I won't show you!" He said with his best noble voice, failing to get rid of the grin plastered over his face.

"I promise." She said, all the the while her eyes were saying 'For now'.

"Uh huh." Was all he said response as he returned to his work. "Ah, here we go." Gripping the scabbard tightly, he drew himself back up into a sitting position and faced Della with legs crossed holding the sword in both hands. Her eyes widened and her mouth hung open in awe.

"You found that...in a tree?" Torrhen nodded and grasped the hilt and scabbard, slowly pulling them apart to reveal the blade. She gasped, which made him smile.

"Valyrian steel?" She asked in an almost reverent whisper as he raised the sword to watch the light play across the ripples in the steel.

"Yes, but not just any Valyrian steel. This is Dark Sister, forged in the furnaces of Old Valyria and carried by Queen Visenya Targaryen. When she died it passed to Daemon the Rogue Prince, then Aemon the Dragonknight, then Bloodraven and now me." He returned the sword to the scabbard and placed it beside the bed before taking Della's hands in his own. He marvelled at how soft they were. "Pretty impressive, don't you think?"

"I do. It's not everyday someone like me sees something like that. However," She pulled Torrhen on top of him and kissed him fiercely "it's not the sword I want." Laughter was quickly followed by moans and gasps as the two discovered each other all over again.


	13. Partings and Promises

_The earth felt good beneath his feet as he ran through the woods, the wind whipping past his ears and the trees being little more than blurs. He could feel his tongue dangling out of his mouth as he panted in exhaustion yet drove himself on in exhilaration. Emerging from the woods he raced toward Winterfell as the morning sun began to cast the sky in an ensemble of reds and golds, slowing to a trot as he neared the main gate and receiving a friendly nod from one of the guards. As he made his way through the nearly empty courtyard, he began to wonder whether everything had gotten larger or he had gotten smaller. This thought became more prevalent as he entered the godswood, where the trees seemed to tower over him. As he drew closer to the edge of the pool, the feeling that something was...different intensified. He looked over the edge to see Rhaegar's face looking back at him, but with_ his _eyes.  
_

(-)

Almost on cue, his eyes opened to reveal...the ceiling. With slow, careful movements of his head he realized that he was back in his room, in his bed, and that Della was still with him. Nestled tightly against him with her head on his shoulder, the fingers of her left hand splayed across his chest. He also noticed the little sounds she made as she slept; it almost sounded like purring, which Torrhen found adorable. Reluctantly, he slowly disengaged himself from her embrace and got out of bed, softly gasping when his bare feet touched the stone floor. Walking to the center of the room, he slowly performed Ser Rodrik's morning stretches and felt his muscles slowly loosen. Afterwards, he washed himself with the cold water in the basin. He quietly gasped again as the water touched his skin, giving him goosebumps over his arms. As he rubbed down his face with a nearby towel, his mind returned to that...dream? Vision? Whatever it was, it felt so _real_. He thought back to some of Old Nan's stories about the Children of the Forest and the Wargs. He had also heard, while at Castle Black, of wildlings who used animal companions to spy on or even attack rangers. But even amongst them, only one in a thousand could ever have the power to enter the mind of a beast and not only look through their eyes, but control them. "Could I?" He asked himself as he looked out his window into the courtyard, watching the castle slowly awaken. Suddenly, the rustling of sheets turned his head towards the bed where he watched as Della slowly rouse herself. He leaned against the wall, remaining a silent observer as she rose with the grace of a dancer, stretching her arms and combing out the tangles in her hair while more and more luscious skin was revealed. "You look absolutely beautiful." He said softly which made her stop and slowly turn towards him, revealing her firm breasts and dazzling smile.

"Are you so sure of that? I fear you might be slightly biased." Feeling childish, he leapt onto the bed and wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back to bed which resulted in peals of laughter as they fell on the messy sheets. Feeling bold, he gently caressed her breasts with alternatively dotting her shoulders and neck with love bites. The squirming motions and moans produced by Della confirmed his actions were greatly approved of.

"If this is bias, I love it." He declared, firmly kissing her which then resulted in the divine sensation of her skin rubbing against his and she twisted in his arms to face him. As she pulled away, he opened his eyes and was rewarded by the sight of her sitting on his hips while her fingers danced across his chest. "This is the perfect way to start the day. There is no argument that could convince me otherwise."

"I find myself in complete agreement with you, my wolf. Alas, we must join the rest of the world. I do have a tavern to run."

"Do we have to? The bed is soft and warm, and so are you. I see no reason whatsoever…" Just then, his stomach let loose a mighty growl.

"Would that be a reason?" She asked before breaking out in a fit of giggles while Torrhen looked at his stomach with a look of great displeasure.

"Traitor." Suddenly, a quick succession of knocks on the door drew the attention of the lovers.

"Yes, what is it?" Torrhen called out, his annoyance growing further. The knocker was quick to respond.

"Apologies, my lord. Lord Stark wishes you good morning and hopes that you will join him for breakfast today." With a finger to his lips and a small nod from her the two reluctantly parted with Torrhen grabbing a robe and Della moving out of sight of the door, grabbing her discarded dress by the fireplace. As he made his way to the door he looked back at Della just covering herself. With a pang of regret, he turned back to the door and slowly opened it just enough to keep the messenger from seeing into his room.

"Please tell my brother that I will join him shortly. I have...an errand to attend to first." With a nod, the messenger departed. Closing the door, he leaned his head on it and let out a long sigh.

"So now what?" He turned to see Della sitting in the bed.

"Now I find a way to get you out of here with least amount of attention called to you." Torrhen said, disrobing and throwing his robe on the bed before walking to his dresser. "Fortunately, I know of a few secret paths that could do just that." He smiled as he felt Della's eyes on him as he pulled up and buckled on clean trousers.

"Secret paths?"

"Yes." Grabbing and throwing on a shirt, he walked over to the bed and sat down next to Della. "Over the centuries, with each new addition to Winterfell, secret passageways were built throughout as means of potential escape...or to avoid prying eyes." He laid feather-light kisses on her shoulder and neck, while she made approving sounds. "There are supposed to be a least two dozen, but I still haven't found all of them." He said before capturing her lips with his. The finest silk from the Free Cities would feel like sackcloth compared to Della's lips, he thought. As they pulled away, the smile he saw on her face matched his.

"How exciting. So which one shall you use for my escape?"

"How about I show you?"

(-)

It felt so...scandalous as Torrhen led Della, wearing a long hooded cloak, from the Great Keep to the crypts. Of course, the trip suffered from constant interruptions when the two engaged in passionate kissing whenever a gap in the wall appeared or a guard had to be avoided. 'I wonder if my father ever did something like this?' He thought as they finally arrived at the ironwood doors of the crypt, but then he remembered the kind of man his father was and barely stifled a chuckle. It was probably his uncle Brandon who snuck out his conquests through these hidden tunnels. Opening it just enough to let them slip through, he took a cautionary glance before closing it behind them.

"Now, stay close to me." He said to Della, taking her hand in his while the other grabbed a lit torch. He could see both wonder and fear in her eyes. "Don't worry. Nothing will hurt you down here."

"You sure?"

"I swear on my life." With a firm kiss and a reassuring squeeze of her hand they set off, slowly descending into the tunnels. As they walked, Torrhen felt Della's hand squeezing his to an almost painful degree. "Would you like me to tell you about some of the tombs?"

"I think I would like that. It's too quiet down here." Della said, to which Torrhen nodded in agreement. Drawing on all that his teachers had taught him he began to speak of the long history of the Starks, pointing at various statues and speaking of the lords that were buried beneath them and their many deeds. Some were more renowned and well-known than others, but they were all Starks. He felt pride as he walked among the tombs recalling all his family's history, good and bad, as they continued to descend. "You said only the Lords of Winterfell were buried here."

"They are, all the way back to the Kings of Winter. The oldest ones are buried in tunnels that have long since collapsed. Some say that at the very bottom lies the tomb of Brandon the Builder, but no one has been able to get down that far in centuries."

"Then who is buried in the tomb with the statue of the lady? The one next to Lord Rickard, with the feather in her palm."

"That would be my father's sister, Lyanna. She died after the Rebellion against the Mad King and my father wanted her to be with her kin. He had tombs made for her and my uncle, Brandon, next to their father so that they would always be together. Even in death."

"What was she like?"

"She was brave, willful, fierce and beautiful. She was almost unbeatable on a horse, loved to fight and was never afraid to speak her mind. Of course, that's only what people tell me about her. But from what I've heard, she was a remarkable woman...who died far before her time." A heavy sigh left him and then silence followed between the two, with only their footfalls, the flicker of the torches and dripping water echoing through the halls.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean…"

"Don't apologize, please. You've given no offense." He said, kissing her hand. "Ah, here we are." They stopped in front of a tomb where the statue seemed to resemble all the others save for one feature. At the statue's feet rested both a wolf and a lion with paws crossing. "This is the tomb of Lord Beron Ironbreaker. He was Lord of Winterfell during the reign of King Aerys I."

"Why does he have a lion sitting at his feet with the wolf?"

"That's an interesting story; Beron was the second son of Lord Brandon Stark and as part of an alliance with House Lannister, was sent to Casterly Rock as a ward to live with Lord Damon's family. He became close with Tybolt Lannister, Damon's eldest son. They were inseparable until the death of Beron's older brother, Rodwell. Since Rodwell had no children of his own, Beron had to return to become Lord of Winterfell. But even after that, they still remained close. Years later, when Dagon Greyjoy began launching raids against the western shores for captives and plunder, Beron and Tybolt joined forces and drove them back to the Iron Islands. During the final battle at the Banefort, where they fought side by side, Beron took an arrow meant for Tybolt and died in his arms as the Ironborn fled back to their ships. Tybolt escorted his body back to Winterfell to rest alongside his father and brother with an honor guard of three hundred men. He commissioned this statue of him, with wolves and lions at his feet, to forever symbolize their friendship."

"That's quite a story." Della's eyes were wide, which made Torrhen grin.

"It is. Tybolt even proposed to Beron's widow, Lady Lorra, that their houses should be joined in matrimony: Beron's eldest son, Donner, would marry his daughter Cerelle when she came of age. But they both died before anything could happen. That was over a century ago, and now Starks and Lannisters look at each other with loathing and disdain." The grin changed to a frown as history caught up to more recent events. He felt Della squeezing his hand, which helped.

"You're thinking of your family in King's Landing, aren't you?"

"I just hope...I just hope that they're alright."

"I'm sure they will be. After all, don't people say that Starks are hard to kill?"

"They do, but we can be killed. Just because we're Starks doesn't make us invincible. People seem to forget that. My grandfather and uncle forgot that." Della squeezed his hand again and rubbed his arm with her other hand in a gesture of genuine comfort. A few moments of silence passed between them as Torrhen thought of the past until Della spoke up.

"My father used to say that the greatest fear men had was not of death, but of not knowing how they would die. The terror of going through each and every day wondering if this would be the last sunrise or sunset that they would ever see. The only way to face that fear was live each day like it was your last. That way, if it was, you would have no regrets when the Stranger came for you."

"He told you that?"

"And a lot more. He was a very smart man."

"I can believe that." He couldn't keep himself from smiling and kissed Della firmly on the lips, cupping her face in his hands. Pulling back, he allowed himself to lose himself in her eyes. Until she pulled him back.

"Now how about that secret passage?" With that mention, his mind refocused on the task at hand.

"Oh, right! Follow me." Taking her hand once again, he led her behind the statue. Reaching the far wall, he placed the torch in a convenient alcove and his free hand on the stones and began feeling his way across. Reaching the corner, he began working his way down until he felt a small lever. With his foot, he pushed it in and heard a loud click from the other side of the wall. "I'm going to need my other hand for this." He said, letting Della's hand go and immediately missing the warmth. With both hands placed on the wall and booth feet braced, he began to push with all his might. Nothing happened for a moment and then half of the wall began to slowly rotate until it had moved a full ninety degrees, revealing a long corridor of stone. Della let out a long, low whistle.

"Now _that_ is a secret passage." Torrhen grinned at how impressed she was.

"No one knows about this tunnel. Not even Bran." He said and failed to keep a hint of smugness from entering his voice. "It runs for at least a mile, then lets you out within walking distance of Winter's Town."

"Am I to assume correctly that it's only one-way?"

"Sadly, yes. It can only be unlocked from this side, as this tunnel was designed for escape."

"Then I suppose I should say this now." She said after letting out a heavy sigh.

"Say what?" Della turned to look at him directly, and he could see a faint grimace in the corners of her mouth.

"I think that we should end this." Torrhen suddenly had trouble breathing and his hands felt clammy.

"W..why? Have I done something wrong?"

"No! Of course not, darling. You have done _nothing_ wrong. It's just…there's no real future for us."

"How can you say that?"

"Torrhen, be reasonable. We live in two different worlds. Your father is Warden of the North _and_ Hand of the King and I run a tavern. Do you really think that anyone in your family would accept us being together if they ever found out?"

"I don't care what my family thinks! I lo…" Della's sudden movement of placing her hand on his lips stopped him mid-sentence.

"Don't. Don't say that." Her eyes were wide. "You can't say that. Not to me."

"Why not?" Torrhen was confused.

"Because there is someone better for you, who deserves those words. Someone younger and prettier, who can be love you freely and openly. It will also help if they have an old name and lots of money."

"But Della…"

"No. Let us cherish what we've had, but accept that it cannot go any further. We must be adults about this." Torrhen struggled to find a way to counter her argument, but the more he thought about it…the more it made sense, and he hated that it did.

"I guess…this is it, then." He said, closing his eyes in defeat only to open them at the sensation of Della's warm hands against his cheeks.

"Torrhen, I want you to be happy and I know that you won't be with me, not if you have to sneak me in and out of the castle and constantly shield me from prying eyes. The woman who will get all of your love is out there, waiting for you. Call it a woman's intuition."

"Well, I can't argue with that."

"No you can't." She declared and then kissed him passionately. Gently, he gripped her waist and pulled her to him, focusing his mind on remembering this moment. All too soon they parted and looked at each other. "I will never forget you, Torrhen Stark. Never." She reached behind her and took the torch from the wall. As she held it to her face, Torrhen could see her eyes glistening and his heart sank. With a final look that spoke volumes, she turned and walked down the tunnel. With only the faint light of the torches behind him, he watched as the light grew dimmer and dimmer until she rounded a corner and disappeared completely.

She had not looked back once.

With a heavy sigh, he pressed the lever again and watched as the wall slowly moved back into place. Once it returned to its resting place, it looked as if nothing had been disturbed. Returning to the corridor, he glanced at Beron's stone face and gave a small nod as if to thank his ancestor for his assistance. Then, without a backward glance, he turned away from the dead to rejoin the living.

(-)

Rhaegar was waiting for him at the crypt entrance which brought a smile to his face, something he desperately needed right then. Kneeling, he wrapped his arms around his neck and stroked his fur while Rhaegar rested his head on his shoulder and gently whined, as if he knew what had just happened and wanted to provide comfort and support to his master.

"I'm alright, boy. I'm alright. Just…not the way I was hoping to start the day." He said, trying to keep his voice steady. Rhaegar looked at him and licked his face, which made Torrhen smile. "Come on, boy. Let's get some breakfast." He rose and with a rub behind his ears, walked off towards the Great Hall with Rhaegar trotting beside him.

"Good morning to you, m'lord!" He turned his head to see Yoren coming up behind him. Despite his stoop and rough looks, he looked as if sleeping in a real bed after weeks on the road had done wonders for him.

"Good morning to you as well. Are you having breakfast with my brother as well?"

"Aye. I would have joined him last night but sleeping in one of your soft beds was too tempting. I hope your brother did not…"

"Say no more, Yoren. You needed your rest and Robb…wanted some time alone with family. We had personal matters to discuss." Yoren nodded and the two men walked in silence. "Yoren, can I ask you a personal question?"

"I'll do my best, m'lord."

"Have you ever had to make a choice that you knew was the right one, but you still hated making it?"

"Have I?! Many, many times, m'lord." He spat out a long stream of sourleaf before leaning against a nearby wall. "I grew on a small farm just outside of Maidenpool, with my parents and older brother, Donnor. Not much, but it was ours. One day, when I was fifteen, I saw Donnor get stabbed to death by a man named Willem. Don't remember what they were fighting about; Money, drink, even a woman. What I do remember is walking out the front door and seeing Willem sticking a big knife into my brother's belly and holding him as he bled out while that bastard cleaned his knife off with the same manner a man would wipe shit off his boots and walked away without a backward glance. Didn't see him again for three years until one day he showed up and I stuck an axe in his head. Knowing that if Lord Mooton's men got me I be straight off to the block, I grabbed his horse and rode for the Wall. Almost killed the beast before I made it to Castle Black. And for the last thirty years, I've been wearing black." Another wad of spit and a heavy sigh followed. "I had never killed a man before him. Didn't like it and I still don't. But I had to do it, because that man killed my brother. Just like I had to leave home and take the black, without saying goodbye to my family, because I knew that if I stayed I would be a dead man. You'll make quite a few choices in your life that will leave a bad taste in your mouth and your stomach feeling like you just ate a whole bowl of brown, but they will be the only choices you have. As long as you make the choice for the right reasons, they'll be easier to bear. Does that answer your question?"

"I…I think so. Thank you, Yoren."

"My pleasure. Now if you don't mind, I could use some breakfast." With a pat on Torrhen's shoulder, he set off again for the Great Hall. Torrhen could only stand there, staring off into the middle distance and trying to wrap his mind around what he had just been told while Rhaegar sat by his left leg.

"I guess…it was the right thing to do." The fingers of his left hand combed through his fur while he flexed the fingers of his right before clenching them into a fist. "No, it _is_ the right thing to do." Uncoiling his fingers, he ruffled his fur before the two followed Yoren, He felt…lighter, his mind clearer and refocused on his mission to King's Landing. Della would remain a fond memory, but a memory. And now, to breakfast.

(-)

It was a fairly unremarkable day. Following breakfast, Torrhen, Robb, Theon and Yoren went out riding. For several hours, it was like they were children again as they raced and made crude jokes. When they returned, Torrhen checked the progress of the saddle design. Satisfied with what he saw, he spent the rest of the day reading and practicing with Hallis Mollen, the new captain of the guard, in the training yard. That night, as the castle slowly descended into slumber, Torrhen stood before the door to Bran's room. Lightly knocking, a soft voice from the other side bade him enter. "Rhaegar, go to my room." With a minor whine of protest, he trotted off while Torrhen opened the door and stepped in to see Bran sitting up in bed while Old Nan sat beside him with her weathered fingers still tirelessly working at her sewing. Summer sat at the foot of Bran's bed, relaxed but ever watchful. "How's my brother tonight?"

"Well as can be, m'lord."

"Get some rest. You look like you need it." With a nod she rose and quickly shuffled off, closing the door behind her. Taking a seat next to Summer, he ran a hand through his hair before turning to look at Bran.

"So, what's on your mind?"

"I don't want you to go."

"I don't want to go either, but I made a promise. Besides, the sooner I leave the sooner I come back."

"Really?"

"Yes. When I get to King's Landing, I'll see Father and the girls and tell them about how much you miss them. Then, on my way home I'll see Mother and Ser Rodrik at Riverrun and then we'll all come home together. Shouldn't take longer than a couple of months."

"But that's too long!"

"I know, I know. But just think of all the stories I'm going to have to share with you and Rickon, eh? Think of all the presents I'll bring back for you. Better yet, think of how proud our mother will be when she sees you in your new saddle riding out to greet her."

"I don't want her to see me like…this." Bran said meekly with his eyes downcast, looking to where his legs lay beneath the covers.

"Look at me, Brandon." He did not look up. " _Look at me_." Slowly, his eyes came up and met his brother's. Torrhen could see them glistening, as if he was barely holding back tears. "Our mother has loved you from the first day you came into this world and she will love you until the day she dies. That will never change. Not now, not ever." He combed his hands through Bran's hair, trying to make his touch reassure him. "Besides, there is so much that you can still do."

"Like what?" Brandon asked with a tone of voice which suggested that this idea was the most absurd thing any person had ever thought of in the history of the known world.

"Well…you could become the lord of a holdfast or sit on a King's council, making important decisions which can affect the whole of Westeros. You could even build castles, like Brandon the Builder. You don't need legs to do those, just a sharp mind and a big heart. Both of which you have." Bran couldn't think of anything in retort. "Also, the Citadel has never turned away anyone who couldn't walk."

"I could be a maester?"

"Yes. I can see it now; Brandon Stark, the greatest maester who ever lived! Complier of vast tomes of knowledge and keeper of ancient secrets." He made grand gestures with his arms and spoke in a loud voice which brought a smile to Bran's face, which was the intended goal of Torrhen's antics. "Smart, kind and devastatingly handsome, if I do say so myself." Peals of laughter came from Bran, which brought a wide smile to Torrhen's face. "So you can still laugh. That's good." He waited until Bran's laughter subsided before he continued with a tussle of Bran's hair. "So you see, little brother, you still have so much to offer the world." Bran said nothing, but Torrhen could see the conflict in his eyes. "How about you sleep on it? It's a lot to think about, and I want to see you before I leave tomorrow. Okay?" Bran nodded in affirmation and Torrhen kissed his and Summer's foreheads before rising and walking to the door.

"Torrhen?" He turned as the door swung open and saw a small smile still on Bran's face. He could see the doubts in his eyes, but also the small flicker of hope.

"Yes?"

"Thank you." The sincerity in his voice warmed Torrhen's heart.

"You are most welcome. Sleep well, little brother, and I'll see you in the morning. You too, Summer." With a wink he slowly closed the door and walked to his room. As he entered his room and began to disrobe, he thought to himself about how much had happened today and all that was to come. As he climbed into bed and Rhaegar took his place at the end, he silently prayed to the Old Gods that Bran could find the strength within himself to become a better man just before his eyes closed.

As he stepped into the courtyard, washed, dressed and packed, they were all there. The whole household lined up and smiling. As he made his way over to them, he tightened his grip on Dark Sister's hilt, fighting to keep control of his emotions. While Rhaegar ran off to play with his brothers one last time he walked among them, accepting their wishes for good health and a safe journey and thanking them for all of their services. Luwin and Old Nan gave him advice, Septon Chayle offered to give prayers to the Seven to ensure a safe trip and Mikken gave him a new dagger, all of which Torrhen accepted graciously. Finally, only his brothers were left.

"I don't want you to go." Rickon said softly with tears in his eyes. Torrhen knelt, bringing himself nearly to eye level.

"I don't want to go either, little wolf. But I made a promise. Besides, if you do something for me I promise I bring back a present."

"What do you want me to do?" He leaned in close to Rickon's ear.

"It's very important that you a close eye on these two." He nodded his head toward Bran and Robb. "Make sure they stay out of trouble. Can you do that for me?" Rickon nodded and embraced tightly. With a kiss to his forehead he moved to Bran, sitting on Hodor's knee. "Do you remember what I told you?" Bran nodded. "Alright then. When I get back with Mother, we'll have a nice, long talk. Just the three of us. Okay?" Another hug followed. And then only Robb was left, struggling to find the right words to say.

"Be careful down there, will you?"

"Of course. As my lord commands." He said, with a small bow of respect. Then he was pulled into a bear hug by Robb, which he returned in full.

"Give Father and the girls my best, okay?" Robb whispered into his ear. All Torrhen could do was nod, for fear his voice would crack. Stepping back, he gave one more bow to the crowd before taking Swiftwind's reins from Yoren. Wordlessly, the two men lifted themselves onto their mounts and rode out the main gate, with Rhaegar racing behind them. Torrhen would not look back; he had to maintain his composure for the sake of his brothers. As they neared the stone marker of the crossroads, he was surprised to see Tyrion, Jyck and Morrec waiting for them on horseback.

"And I thought we were going to have to drag you out of bed."

"On the eve of this auspicious adventure? Ha! I was up before the sun."

"I'll believe it when I see it." Yoren retorted, leading to laughter amongst the group. "Well, we had best get going. The road is long and we should make it to Castle Cerwyn before nightfall."

"Lead on, then. To King's Landing!" With Yoren at the front, Torrhen, Tyrion and Rhaegar in the middle, and Jyck and Morrec at the rear, the party set off down the Kingsroad. With one final look at Winterfell, Torrhen prayed for the health and safety of his brothers and that he would soon return in triumph. Then, with prayers made, he turned his gaze southward to a brand new adventure.


	14. Apprehension and Abduction

The road to King’s Landing was similar to the road to the Wall, in that there were long stretches of absolutely nothing between the scattered holdfasts and inns. But unlike the journey to the Wall, the weather gradually improved. So much so that by the time the party crossed in the northern Riverlands, Torrhen found himself laying out under the stars without the need for a blanket to keep warm. Along with the weather, he also found himself becoming more accustomed to entering Rhaegar’s mind. He could only do it while he slept, but the ability started to become as natural as putting on a glove. He began to feel at home in the mind of his companion and if Rhaegar ever noticed, he gave no inclination. It was an exhilarating feeling to allow himself to become a creature of the wild, answering only to the whims of nature. He recognized, however, just how easy it would be to simply forget his other form. To stay as the wolf forever. But to do so would most likely mean that he would forget everyone and everything he loved. So, as Rhaegar padded over to his sleeping form, he slowly began to withdraw and return the recesses of his own mind, as he had done before. And he began to dream…

 

_He walked by the banks of the Trident, the sounds of rushing water, tree branches catching the breeze and joyful birdsong filling his ears. As he walked by the water, rounding a bend, he came across the corpse of a three-headed dragon with scales as black as night but covered in large red splotches. The beast appeared to have been hacked to pieces with such brutality and malice as never before seen by the young man. As he knelt beside the fallen beast, a faint voice was carried on the wind to his ears. It was soft but it repeated itself until the words became clear._

_“I call upon you to seize him!”_

_Suddenly, the wind changed and he turned to see a lion, full grown with a prominent mane but smaller than the average lion, locked in an iron cage with spike facing inwards. Above the cage circled several falcons. As he gazed at the sight before him, overwhelmed by the confusion, the smell of smoke wafted across his nose. He turned again and gasped in horror._

_The Trident was red, thanks to the corpses that were carried by the current like so much debris. The surrounding lands were consumed by flames which spawned clouds of thick black smoke that darkened the sky. The destruction seemed to go on forever and faint screams could be heard in every direction. Suddenly, a cacophony of barking drew his attention to a wall of flame behind him. Three black hounds leapt through the flames and ran straight at him as if possessed by some unholy fury. Fear gripped him, just as it had with the lion, as he stood with his back to the river. The closet one closed the distance and launched into the air, its blood stained teeth having savage plans for his throat…_

 

With a gasp he woke, hands clasped at his neck and breathing hard. Turning his head, he saw his companions all sleeping soundly. Even Rhaegar remained still beside him. Relieved that his outburst has disturbed no one, he slowly stretched and stood up from his bedroll while watching the sky began to shift into hues of red, orange and purple with the coming of the sun. The song of birds and the smell of the earth completed this spectacle of the senses as he strolled over to the horses. Swiftwind touched his chest in a familiar gesture of greeting.

 

“Hello, boy. Sleep well?” A shake of the head was his answer. “Me neither.” He replied, gently stroking his mane and feeding him an apple as he watched the others slowly stir and rise.

 

“I’m not meant for this kind of lifestyle. I apologize, but it’s true.”

 

“No shame in admitting that, m’lord. You’d make a shit ranger.” Yoren commented as he lit the campfire.

 

“I have to agree with Yoren. I don’t see you riding beyond the Wall. Plus, I don’t all black is a good look for you.” Yoren laughed and Tyrion chuckled while Jyck and Morrec gave a small smile each, amused but still respectful of their lord.

 

“Well, I’m glad that we all find ourselves in agreement. Now how about some breakfast?” All made voices in agreement and preparations were made by Yoren and the others.

 

“Tyrion, can I have a word alone with you?” With a silent nod the two men and Rhaegar walked out of earshot behind the horses. “Tyrion, even though we’ve only known each other a few months I consider you to be one of my closest and dearest friends.”

 

“Really? Well, to my surprise I feel the same about you.”

 

“I’m glad to hear that, but it doesn’t make this any easier.”

 

“Make what any easier?” Torrhen had to collect his thoughts and take a deep breath while rubbing Rhaeagr’s ears to keep his hands occupied. He knew what he had to ask, but was terrified of the answers. “Torrhen, what’s wrong?”

 

“Tyrion, while we were at Castle Black…someone tried to kill Bran.” Tyrion’s eyes widened in shock at this news, which gave some small comfort to Torrhen. But he had to know for certain, so he continued.

 

“After you left, Robb told me everything. There was a fire in the Library Tower one night. While he and the other men were busy putting it out, someone snuck into Bran’s room with a knife. Would have killed him if not for Mother fighting him off and Summer ripping his throat out. No one recognized the man, but the knife was what drew the most attention. It had a Valyrian steel blade with a hilt made of dragonbone” Something in Tyrion’s face shifted, enough to catch his notice. “You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?”

 

“The description does seem familiar to me, but I can’t quite put my finger on it…” His train of thought was cut off by a wave of Torrhen’s hand.

 

“I don’t want to know the details. I just want to know…Tyrion, did you have any foreknowledge of an attempt on Brandon’s life?” Silence followed, until Tyrion fixed him with a steely gaze.

 

“No.” With that, the strength seemed to disappear from Torrhen’s legs and had to grab Swiftwind’s saddle to stay upright while he released a breath he hadn’t even relised he had been holding. “Are you alright?”

 

“Yes, I’m fine. That’s all I wanted to hear. Thank you, my friend.” He sighed, clasping Tyrion’s shoulder tightly. “Now, how about some breakfast?” Tyrion nodded silently and the three of them returned to the fire. The doubt, fear and worry still lingered in Torrhen’s mind but for now, like all great storms, the worst had past.

 

(-)

 

The day passed by uneventfully for the party, as had all the others before, and by the time they were just north of Lord Harroway’s Town, Torrhen felt finally at peace despite the lingering memory of his dream. It was a strange feeling, one that he had not had since before the execution of the deserter. That day was only a few months ago, but it felt like a lifetime had passed since then.

 

“Thanks the gods! An inn!” Tyrion exclaimed. As confirmation, a large structure stood before them on the horizon. Three stories high with turrets and chimneys of white stone and even a belltower, it was quite a sight. Whoever had first built this inn had found a perfect spot; with the Kingsroad, River Road and the High Road all converging at this crossroad, whomever controlled the inn would never lack for business.

 

“Ah, this is a good one! We’ll sleep well tonight and I’ve heard their kidney pie is the best in the Riverlands.” Yoren said, finishing his sentence by expelling a rather large wad of sourleaf.

 

“Sounds good to me. I’m famished.” Torrhen said, with Rhaegar barking in agreement. “Yoren, what is the name of this inn?”

 

“Not sure, most people just call it the Inn at the Crossroads. It’s had others in the past; Bellringer, Two Crowns, Clanking Dragon…”

 

“Dragon?!” The fear suddenly returned, thrust into his heart like a long blade.

 

“Aye. The place belonged to a knight a hundred years ago. Jon…something or other, I can’t remember the bugger’s name. Story goes he got too old to go on adventures so he took up blacksmithing as a hobby. Made a three-headed dragon out of iron to hang over the door. It used to make quite a racket when it got windy, so people just started calling it the Clanking Dragon and the name stuck.”  

 

“What happened to the dragon?”

 

“Well, some Targaryen bastard named Blackfyre decided that his arse should be on the Iron Throne and caused quite a mess. Took a black dragon for his sigil. Now Lord Darry, whose lands this inn was built on and who happened to be a Targaryen loyalist, saw the sign and…well, he was a bit cross. Took a sword to the thing and…”

 

“Hacked it to pieces.”

 

“Yeah. Threw the pieces into the river afterwards. Heard that someone found a piece washed up on the riverbank a few years later. All red from the rust.”

 

“You know, I’m actually not the least bit tired. We could keep going to Saltpans. There’s still plenty of light.”

 

“I suppose we could, my friend, but I’m afraid the allure of a feather bed and a hot meal cannot be ignored any longer. Come, my stalwart companions. My father’s gold will see us fat and happy tonight and well rested for the road tomorrow.” Murmurs of agreement soon found Torrhen in the minority and the party rode on to the stables while the hairs on the back of his neck began to rise. Finally dismounting, he volunteered to get the horses settled in while the others found food and lodgings. As they disappeared inside, a stable boy with a homely face ran over to Torrhen as he reached into his purse.

 

“Have these horses fed, watered and rubbed down. We’ll be here for the night.” He said, pushing a silver coin into the boy’s hand. “And bring me some apples and carrots if you can and a nice big bone for my wolf here. They’ve earned it.” He added, followed by two more coins. The boy, wide-eyed at the money in his hand, nodded quickly and ran off. “Well boys, what do you think? Am I just being paranoid? Or is there really something I should be worried about?” As expected, no answers came from either horse or wolf as they boy returned with a small sack. Inside were the requested items. Feeling generous, he gave the boy another coin and sent him off. “Now let’s see what we have here. Ah, here we go.” He grinned, pulling out a large bone from the sack. ‘Most likely from a large boar’ he thought as Rhaegar set upon it with relish. Swiftwind got a pair of apples, for which Torrhen received thanks with an affectionate snout rub, while the others got a couple of carrots each. But then as he moved to go inside, he noticed that there was one more apple in the sack. Suddenly, he saw a beautiful snow-white Dornish sand steed tied near the river, the reins held by a tall, well-built man wearing an ornate but weathered scale armor. Leaving Swiftwind tied up, he and Rhaegar strolled down to the bank. As he came closer, he saw a heater shield attached to the saddle. Emblazoned with a black tree on a red field and three gold diamonds on a black field, which seemed familiar to him. From one of Maester Luwin’s lessons, probably. “Pardon me, ser.” Impulsively, he walked over and offered the apple as the man turned his head to look at him. “I have an extra apple here. Would you mind if…?” The rider nodded and Torrhen held the apple before the mare. After an inquiring sniff, it was accepted.

 

“You should be careful, though. She might decide to keep you.” The man said with a smile. With his long light brown hair, clean shaven face with its sharp edges and rugged physique, he cut an impressive figure. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword; a blade of excellent craftsmanship, but also showing the wear and tear of actual use. This was a man who knew how to fight and fight well. “Snowfall is very good at making friends.”

 

“I can believe that. She’s a magnificent creature.” He stroked her mane while she nuzzled his chest. “How old is she?”

 

“She just turned 6. She’s the foal from my last horse who died a few years ago. Broken leg, had to be put down.”

 

“I’m sorry about that.”

 

“No apologies are necessary. Glory had a good life and I was lucky to have her. She was a gift from the knight who I squired for.”

 

“Must have been quite a man.”

 

“Prince Lewyn certainly was.” Torrhen couldn’t keep his eyes from widening.

 

“You were Lewyn Martell’s squire?!”

 

“I was. He was a great man who died far before his time. So did quite a few others that day.” Suddenly a mixture of shock and embarrassment crossed his face, replacing his look of fond, but bittersweet reflection. “Seven Hells, where are my manners? Ser Renly Darkwood of Blacktree Tower.” He said, extending his hand which Torrhen clasped tightly as he remembered what Luwin had said; The Darkwoods had been bannermen of House Darklyn of Duskendale. When the Darklyn’s rebelled against the Iron Throne and imprisoned the Mad King in the Dun Fort, Ser Tristan Darkwood had his forces join the royal army instead of answering the summons of his liege lord. When the siege was lifted and the Darklyn’s were killed, he had hoped to claim the Dun Fort and Duskendale for his house. It was given to House Rykker instead but Ser Tristan’s support was not forgotten. For his loyalty, he was given several chests of gold and jewels, a new suit of armor and his son was taken on as a squire by Prince Lewyn Martell of the Kingsguard. The last mention of him was that he had died in single combat against Robert Baratheon at the Trident.     

 

“Torrhen Stark of Winterfell. This handsome beast here is Rhaegar.” Rhaegar barked in greeting.

 

“Is he a…a direwolf?”

 

“Indeed. He was born from a litter of six. Their mother died south of the Wall and my father let my siblings and I raise the pups. So far, I think we’ve done alright.” He declared, rubbing behind Rhaegar’s ears. “So what brings you so far from the Crownlands?”

 

“I went to the Ruby Ford to honor my father and Prince Lewyn. It’s something I’ve done ever since my eighteenth name day. This year I decided to travel further north before returning home. I might even see Moat Callin.”

 

“There isn’t much to see up there, that I can promise you.” Torrhen smiled and Renly nodded in understanding.

 

“So what brings you so far from home?” He asked as they began walking toward the stables.

 

“Just passing through on my way to King’s Landing to see my father and sisters. I’m travelling with a few friends to pass the time.”

 

“Not a bad way to travel, especially in these parts. You never know who you’re going to run into.” Torrhen would have said something in response if Rhaegar had not suddenly taken off toward the inn, barking loudly. In close pursuit, Torrhen passed the stables and saw that several horses had disappeared. Among them were Tyrion’s and his escorts. “What’s wrong with him?” He turned in response to the question and fixed Renly with a troubled gaze as the barking continued.

 

“If I had to guess, nothing good. Come on.” Following Rhaegar to the courtyard, they found Yoren standing near the entrance holding the reins to his horse. He looked…tired.

 

“Ah! There you are, Lord Stark. You just missed them.”

 

“Missed who? Where’s Tyrion? His horse is gone.”

 

“They’re both gone. She took him.”

 

“Who?”

 

“Your mother.” At those words, a large lump of cold iron formed in his stomach. It couldn’t be…shouldn’t be, and yet it was. In his mind he saw once again the Trident chocked with corpses, the land consumed by flames…and the hounds. Those savage beasts with bloody mouths and malice-filled eyes. But…it didn’t have to be. He could stop it. He could prevent it, if he was quick enough.

 

“Which way did they go?” He asked, clenching his fists to keep them from shaking.

 

“East. Lady Catelyn made noise about taking him to Winterfell to face the King’s Justice. Quite loudly, but she and the others rode off toward the Vale after putting a sack over his head and the others.”

 

“Then I have to move quickly. Yoren, ride for King’s Landing as fast as you can. Kill your horse if you have to, but get to my father and tell him what’s happened. I’ll go after them.”

 

“Yes, m’lord.” He climbed into the saddle and set his mount to a trot. “Good luck, Torrhen Stark.” He called out behind him before spurred the horse into a gallop, racing down the road without a further backward glance.

 

“Take care, Yoren.” He said quietly before striding over to the stables to untie Swiftwind. “It seems I must cut our conversation short, Ser Renly, and for that you have my sincere apologies.” He lamented as he climbed into the saddle.

 

“No need to apologize. I’ll just come with you.” He said, pulling himself up into Snowfall’s saddle.

 

“Why?”

 

“I would like to help you. He is your friend and, of course, rescuing the King’s good-brother is no small matter, pardon the pun. Besides, I’ve never been to the Vale.” Torrhen was struck dumb by this. Here was a knight with both training and experience at arms volunteering to help him rescue, of all people, Tyrion Lannister! What are the odds of that?

 

“Alright. I should warn you that this might get a bit messy.”

 

“I can handle messy.” He declared, gripping his sword hilt with confidence.

 

“I hope you’re right.” With that and a snap of the reins, the two riders galloped from the inn and ascended the High Road while Rhaegar kept pace as storm clouds began to gather overhead. They rode like the world was on fire…which could happen if they weren’t fast enough.


	15. Skirmish and Salvation

After two days of hard riding, they had finally caught up to the party. Through rain and cold they had kept up their pursuit through the Mountains of the Moon, forsaking both food and rest. Now they lay on their stomachs overlooking the campsite where the small band relaxed, serenaded by their resident singer. By some of the looks on their faces, especially Ser Rodrik who hated singers, he wasn’t making many friends.

“So aside from your mother, the captives and the singer, that leaves seven and all of them look like they know what they are doing with their weapons.” Renly said softly.

“Well, we do have one thing on our side. Along with Ser Rodrik, three of those men have the colors of House Bracken of Stone Hedge and the man with the morning star is a knight of House Wode. The Bracken’s are sworn to the Tully’s and the Wode’s are sworn to House Whent. I don’t think they’ll attack the grandson of their liege lords. Which just leaves the other two.”

“Sellswords. Such an unsavory bunch.” They watched as Tyrion’s hood was removed and he was brought before Lady Catelyn. Although they couldn’t hear them, from their movements it was obvious that the words being exchanged were laced with frustration and anger.

“Indeed. You know, we don’t even have to fight them. We’ll just ride into camp, explain ourselves and, if we’re lucky, we can ride out with Tyrion and his men.” However, such luck disappeared as Rhaegar’s ears perked up and he began to make a low growl from his resting place which both men noticed immediately. “Someone’s coming.”

“Who?”

“Hill tribes.” He whispered. “We’ve got to get the horses.” Suddenly, Rhaegar began barking and men yelling savage war cries appeared from behind the rocks as if sprung from them by magic. Some brandishing spears, clubs or other crude weapons and others preparing slings to hurl at the exposed party below. By some miracle, Torrhen and Renly weren’t struck by any projectiles as they ran down the slope and leapt into their saddles. As they galloped toward the party, they saw several of the clansmen thundering into the clearing. Their leader was a burly, towering man in a cloak made of shadowskin and armed with a greatsword. As they met the knights and sellswords, Torrhen and Renly came in behind them with blades drawn. “WINTERFELL!!!” Dark Sister gleamed in the sunlight as Torrhen cried out the name of his home as a challenge to anyone brave or foolish enough to match steel with the son of the Warden of the North. With practiced swings, three men were cut down before they had time to raise their weapons.

“DARKWOOD!!!” Renly’s cry followed his as he drew his sword arm back and, with a great swing, cleave the head off a straggler while Torrhen’s blade punched through the throat of another and in a spray of blood while ducking to avoid an incoming stone that would surely have broken his jaw. And then they were in the thick of the fighting with the clanging of steel, screams of wounded men and the smell of blood all around them.

“Tyrion! Mother! Where are you?! He cried out as he slashed his sword into a tribesman’s stomach, forcing him to drop his weapons to hold in his escaping entrails. Suddenly, his search was cut short as a large stone made impact with his chest which knocked the wind from his lungs, his ass from the saddle and Dark Sister from his hand. Landing with a resounding thud, he found himself struggling to reorient himself as his vision fogged and the sounds of battle seemed muffled, as if the fighting was far away. As his mind slowly cleared, a large shadow appeared overhead. The shadow of their leader holding his greatsword with the blade pointing toward his heart. His eyes widened as he turned his head, only to see that Dark Sister was lying too far away to grab in time. He closed his eyes and awaited oblivion. Only to hear growling, followed by strangled screams. He opened his eyes and rolled over to see Rhaegar with his jaws ripping the man’s throat to pieces while he fruitlessly struggled, his cries muffled as his mouth filled with blood. If there was ever a time to believe in gods, it was now as he forced himself to roll over and wrapped his fingers around the hilt. As he began to rise, another tribesman came at him forcing him to roll to the side in order to avoid a spear that would have pinned him to the ground. With his back to the ground, he barely parried a blow to the right and followed it with a solid left hook to the face that stunned his attacker. Moving quickly, he raised himself onto his elbows and, as his attacker recovered, thrust his sword through his leg. He could hear the sound of bone breaking mixed in with the screams of agony as he pulled the sword free and cut his throat, spraying his face with warm blood. As the spearman spasmed, clutching his throat in a vain attempt to stay alive as the blood poured through his fingers, Torrhen got to his feet. With Dark Sister clutched tightly in his hand and blood pounding in his ears, he quickly got his bearings and went to work; a man came at him with another spear only for Torrhen to grab the spear tip, twist it over and drive his sword through the man’s heart. Already forgetting him, he moved on to a pair of tribesmen attacking one of the sellswords. Grabbing one by the shoulder, he spun him around and began viciously smashing him in the face with the pommel of his sword. Over and over until the man’s nose was all but destroyed and then he drove his sword up through his chest. Throwing him aside as the sellsword dispatched his opponent by opening his stomach and then his throat, he first ducked to avoid another missile and then blocked an overhead strike. Pulling free Mikken’s dagger, he buried it deep in the meeting place between the man’s shoulder and neck. Suddenly, all the screams and ringing of steel was replaced by an eerie silence which was broken only by the wind between the rocks, the sound of crows and his own heavy breathing. Torrhen let his blades drop as his muscles finally gave up.

“Took you long enough.” He turned to see Tyrion standing in front of his mother, his axe buried in a tribesman’s skull. He could see the bastard’s limbs still twitching.

“Serves you right. Running off like that.” With a weak chuckle, he fell to his knees and wrapped him in a warm embrace. “Are you alright?” He asked as they separated and he began to wipe his blade.

“Never killed a man before.” With a sharp tug, he pulled it free while Torrhen watched as his mother rose, stunned and relieved at seeing him alive, before moving over to Ser Rodrik who appeared to be grimacing in pain from gashes in both his arm and neck. From the way she reached for his shoulder it was obvious that one of the marauders had scored a lucky blow there as well. He jerked away in an effort trying to keep her from bloodying herself. The knight from House Wode was taking water from his skin and pouring it over the head of his morningstar, cleaning off the accumulated blood and gore. He did it without any hint of hesitation or disgust.

“Neither have I. Now that I’ve done it, I’m not sure what the appeal is in doing it.” He lamented, standing up to survey the battle as he saw Renly, thankfully unharmed, cleaning off his sword. The slain tribesmen were in the majority, but he could see the bloody remains of all three of the Bracken men; one had his face smashed in, another was cut to pieces and a third had an axe buried in his neck. He also saw the bodies of Jyck and Morrec, side by side. From the weapons in their hands, at least they had died fighting. Unlike the singer, who slowly crawled from his hiding place. Though he did see that one of his hands was broken, the fingers mangled.

“Poor Jyck. A brave fool to the end.” Tyrion grimaced at the sight of his former servant with a large gaping wound in his back.

“Shame. He seemed like a good man.”

“He was, but no warrior.”

“Are we warriors?”

“You, maybe. Myself…I doubt it.”

“Does it really matter? You lived.” They turned to see the sellsword wiping his blade on the cloak of a headless tribesman. “That should be enough.” He snorted some phlegm before spitting on the same corpse. “Of course, having a woman might help.” All three turned to look at Lady Catelyn dressed Ser Rodrik’s wounds.

“Well I’m willing if she is.” Tyrion said, almost as if he was merely thinking out loud. His amusement turned to horror as he looked back at Torrhen. “That wasn’t supposed to come out. I mean…I…shit.” As he looked at his friend struggling to recover his composure, he thought of what he could say. But nothing came to mind, so he did the only thing he could do.

He laughed. Hard. So hard that he dropped his sword and had to brace his hands on his knees. Soon Tyrion joined him, perhaps due to the combination of their shared ordeal and the sudden humor. The laughter continued for a few moments as they allowed the trauma to pass. Suddenly, a low groan could be heard behind a nearby rock pile.

“Chiggen. Fuck” The sellsword said through clenched teeth as he ran off.

“Renly, Rhaegar, stay with Tyrion.” He said before following in pursuit, sword in hand. Rounding the pile, he found the sellsword kneeling beside a man with a long gash in his belly and blood pouring between his fingers. Around him lay the bodies of several tribesmen with various limbs scattered around, one of whom had a long knife jammed into the side of his head through his ear. ‘This must be Chiggen’ he thought as he stood opposite Chiggen’s companion.

“Fuckers got me, Bronn. Made ‘em pay for it, but they got me.” He said struggling for breath while Bronn clasped his hand tightly.

“Save your strength, friend. We’ll get you out of here.”

“Piss on that, you old fart. I’m done for and you know it.” A chuckle caused him to lightly cough and blood to trickle from his mouth. “What a way to die, isn’t it? Gutted by some wilding shit in the middle of nowhere.” He said to Torrhen who knelt beside.

“Is there anything we can do?”

“Find me a flagon of wine and a pretty girl to sit on my face, that’ll do. But I’ll settle for some water.” Nodding, Torrhen handed his waterskin to Chiggen and helped him raise his arm to his lips and kept it raised as he drank.

“Thank you, young lord. Perhaps you could do one more thing for me?” Chiggen asked and Torrhen nodded silently. “Makes sure this cretin here gets that little blonde shit to the Eyrie.” He said, slapping Bronn’s arm lightly. “Make sure they both get there in one piece.”

“I will. You have my word.”

“And Bronn, when you get whatever reward she’s giving…buy a round for me at the first tavern you find.”

“Count on it.”

“Good. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to speak with my friend alone.” Nodding silently, he rose and nodded to both the men before turning away and returning to the campsite where his mother sat next to the minstrel and saw to his injuries while Tyrion, Renly and Rhaegar sat together, examining various spoils of battle. Further off, Ser Rodrik and the man of House Wode set about tending to the horses. Cleaning and sheathing his sword allowed him a few moments to relax himself before calling out to his mother who ran over to him and wrapped her arms around him tightly. For a moment, he forgot his anger and returned her embrace.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. A little shaken, but I’m fine. Don’t worry about the blood. It’s not mine.”

“What are you doing here?” With that question, all the anger returned as his gaze hardened and his hands curled into fists.

“What am I doing here? I might as well ask the same of you, mother. And the answer is actually simple; what you are doing here is making the biggest mistake of your life.”

“What do you mean?”

“Kidnapping the son of Tywin Lannister! On the Kingsroad! Do you have any idea what he will do when he gets word of this?!”

“I think I can answer that question.” Tyrion declared, brushing his trousers as his stood up. “Most likely he will call his banners, march through the Golden Tooth and set the Riverlands on fire. He’ll burn every farm, village, and holdfast he can find. And that’s if he is generous, otherwise…as well as burning everything, he’ll make sure that every tree in the Riverlands has at least a dozen men swinging from their branches.” Torrhen watched as his mother’s face fell. “He doesn’t take things like this lightly. Just ask the Reynes and Tarbecks.”

“You hear that, mother? Did you hear him?” He shouted, fear and panic creeping slowly into his voice as he remembered the nightmare. But there was still a chance to prevent it. “I’m taking him to King’s Landing and I’m taking him now.”

“You can’t! He needs to answer for his crimes!”

“WHAT CRIMES?!! He had nothing to do with what happened to Bran! He gave him a design for a new saddle, for fuck’s sake! Why would a man hire an assassin to kill a ten-year-old cripple and then give him a gift?!” Torrhen felt himself losing control and forced his anger back down, trying to regain control of the situation. “The longer we stand here, the more time Tywin Lannister has to call his banners. But if I can get Tyrion back to King’s Landing, then these five…”

“Six.” They turned to see Bronn cleaning his knife. “Chiggen’s gone.” As he sheathed his blade, Torrhen realized what he had done. Pulling in a breath through clenched teeth, he turned to face his mother with a steely gaze and continued.

“These six dead men won’t become six hundred or six thousand. Now, are you going to let me take him or…?” He let his hand rest on his sword hilt; a wordless declaration to his mother that if he had to, he would fight to free Tyrion. Suddenly, all attention focused on Rhaegar barking loudly. “What is it, boy?”

“I think we’re about to have some more company, and probably not the friendly kind.” Renly said as he stood, drawing his sword.

“Oh dear. I was starting to enjoy the peace and quiet.” Tyrion sighed as hefted his axe and the minstrel, nearby, scurried back to his hiding hole. As Ser Rodrik, Bronn drew their swords and the knight from House Wode hefted his weapon, keeping watchful eyes on the rocks, shouts could be faintly heard in the distance.

“Ser Rodrik, get my mother out of here. Now.” Torrhen drew his sword and moved to stand beside Tyrion and Renly. “If we hold them here, you might be able to make it to the Bloody Gate. Now go.”

“Begging your pardon, my lord, but Cassel’s don’t run from a fight. Especially not this one, not in my state. But Ser Willis could make it.”

“By the Seven Hells I could! We’re completely surrounded!” Ser Willis waved his morningstar towards the rocks as the shouting grew louder until the tribesmen emerged all around them as if summoned by infernal forces. No longer relying on surprise, they set about advancing slowly to overwhelm the small party with their superior numbers. As the men slowly encircled Lady Catelyn, Torrhen spared himself a glance for his mother. Despite his anger, he could not help but put it aside as he saw the same fear, doubt and remorse in her face and eyes that he had. With a small nod of forgiveness, he returned his attention to the approaching horde. Their clothes were ragged and their weapons were of pathetic quality but they were far too many for five men and a direwolf, with one dwarf and two injured among their number. As they advanced, he turned to Tyrion and tried not to smirk at his appearance; trying to look like some fearsome warrior when he had never held an axe before, not even to chop firewood. But still, he was here and ready to make a last stand. With nods exchanged between them, they braced themselves. But then Torrhen heard it, a slow rumble that began to grow and grow until the sound was almost deafening which was then followed by the sound of men shouting. And then they emerged, with swords drawn and war cries bellowing.

The Knights of the Vale had come, and they were glorious. Their shining armor blazed in the sun atop their great steeds with the banners of the Falcon and the Crescent Moon flying proudly overhead.

Taken by surprise, many of the tribesmen had no time to react before they were savagely cut down. The smart ones began to run, while a few brave fools stood their ground and were slain for their trouble. Now on the offensive, Torrhen, Bronn, Rhaegar and Renly rushed forward and put their weapons to work with incredible savagery while Tyrion, Ser Rodrik and Ser Willis stayed with Lady Catelyn. Before long, after much hacking, cutting and thrusting, the last stragglers had either been slain or put to rout. Once more, the chaos of battle ceased to be replaced with the tranquil sounds of the earth being trodden on by horse hooves, the clinking of armor and the fluttering of banners. One of the knights removed his helm and Torrhen saw a weathered face with fair amount of stubble, and a wide nose all underneath a mass of thick brown hair. To his left rode a boy who appeared to be his squire. He called to another rider, a heavyset man, who lifted their helm’s visor to reveal a square, plain face with silver hair.

“Ser Vardis! Take twenty men and make for the Bloody Gate. Inform Ser Brynden of what has happened here and that we’ll be returning with a company of travelers.”

“Right away, Ser Donnel. Men, you’re with me!” With that, Ser Vardis closed his visor and set off back down the road he came at a trot with twenty companions before breaking into a gallop. Before long, they rounded a bend and were lost to sight. This appeared to be the appropriate signal to relax as Torrhen and the others all but collapsed.

“You should consider yourselves most fortunate, travelers. Ever since Lord Arryn died, the mountain clans had grown bolder. Raids on travelers and villages have come more frequently and with greater strength than I have ever seen before.”

“So we noticed.” Tyrion quipped. “Might we know the name of our rescuer?”

“Ser Donnel Waynwood, Knight of Ironoaks. At your service, my lord.” Torrhen responded with a nod, too tired to even form words.

“Well met, Ser Donnel. I am Tyrion, son of Tywin of House Lannister. I’ve heard many things about the Waynwoods. All good, I assure you.” Tyrion assured.

“My thanks, Lord Tyrion. But may I enquire as to why you are here?”

“I believe I can answer that, Ser Donnel.” Torrhen turned to see his mother emerge from behind Ser Rodrik and assume a stance appropriate to her noble upbringing. “This man” She began, gesturing to Tyrion “is my prisoner.”

“Lady Stark, I have not seen you in many years. I am glad to see that you are unharmed, as your sister will be when she learns of your arrival. But I must confess that I am surprised that a man who is unbound and bearing weapons is considered a prisoner.”

“He’s not a prisoner, Ser Donnel. What he is…is the victim of a misunderstanding.”

“A misunderstanding you say, Lord…?”

“Torrhen Stark, second born son of Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn. Lord Tyrion and I were on our way to King’s Landing to petition support for the Night’s Watch from my father, the Hand of the King, and King Robert. While we stopped at an inn on the Kingsroad, my mother decided to falsely accuse and seize my friend.” He turned to give a withering glare to his mother. “Now, if you will allow myself, Lord Tyrion and my companion Ser Renly to ride to King’s Landing without delay, we might just prevent this unfortunate incident from starting an all-out war.”

“I’m afraid that I cannot let you leave.” Ser Donnel said, with his head cocked slightly as if listening intently. “The roads are not safe and I can’t spare the men to escort you. We must reach the Bloody Gate before nightfall. And whether or not Lord Tyrion is or isn’t a prisoner is matter for Lady Lysa to decide. Now, I would have you mount up and prepare to move out. Sandor, help Lady Catelyn’s men to their horses. I’m sure they will appreciate the assistance.” With a silent nod, the squire dismounted and moved to assist Ser Rodrik.

“Ser Donnel. Some of the men who traveled with me are among the slain. Might we have time to give them proper burials?” Always the soul of decency his mother was, Torrhen thought. Except when it came to Jon and Tyrion, of course.

“I’m afraid not, my lady. As I said before, we must reach the Bloody Gate by nightfall and the ground here is too rough and hard for graves.”

“Then can your men gather stones for cairns?”

“Lady, meaning no disrespect, but welcome to find those stones yourself. The rest of us have more important things to do. Like breathing.” Bronn’s reply, though rude, was full of truth. The longer they stayed there, even with their greater numbers, the greater chance that none of them would last the night.

“He’s right, m’lady. If the hill tribes don’t get us, the shadowcats will.” Torrhen watched as his mother’s face contorted in frustration before relaxing as she accepted the truth from Ser Rodrik. With a silent nod to him, she turned towards her horse being held for her by one of Waynwood’s men and swung herself into the saddle with assistance.

“Now, if Lady Catelyn is telling the truth and you are indeed a prisoner…then I must ask you to relinquish your weapon.”

“Well, if you must. As a matter of fact, I find it a rather unpleasant tool. I’m not a fighter. Not in the slightest.” He sighed, dropping his axe to the ground with a muted thud. “Well then, shall we go?” He walked over to his horse with Rhaegar, at a subtle gesture from Torrhen, following behind him. As Torrhen walked over to where Swiftwind and Renly’s horse were tied he saw the minstrel, having finally emerged from his hiding place, scurrying over to the fallen leader of the tribesmen to remove his cloak made of shadowcat skin.

“Hey!” He cried out, striding towards him with eyes narrowed and full of menace before ripping it from the man’s terrified hands while leaning in close to his face. “You don’t deserve this!” He hissed through clenched teeth before shoving him to the ground and returning to Tyrion and handing the cloak to him. “It will get a lot colder the closer we get to the Eyrie. You’ll need this.”

“My thanks.” He said, throwing the cloak over his shoulders. “Tell me, good minstrel, have you found any words that rhyme with “imp” yet for your song?” He called out as the singer rose and walked to his horse in the same fashion a boy would walk after having been scolded and thrashed for disobedience. “I’m having the same trouble finding anything that rhymes with “craven” except “raven”. Perhaps inspiration will strike us both at the Eyrie.” Torrhen laughed at this as he mounted Swiftwind, joined by Renly on his horse.

“Bet you’re wishing you had stayed at the inn, aren’t you?”

“Not for a single second, my lord. There seems to be no end of excitement when one travels with a Stark.”

“I’ll have to remember that.” He smirked as the party began to move out, with Ser Donnel and his squire taking the lead while Torrhen, Renly and his mother’s party formed up in the center surrounded by the knights. Rhaegar raced ahead, making sure to keep out of the way of so many hooves. Torrhen, despite the anger he felt towards her, moved Swiftwind alongside her. Depsite all that had occurred, she was his mother and he did love her. He would be sure to tell her this when they made it to the Eyrie.

“Perhaps, Lady Stark, we can resume our conversation prior to our unfortunate interruption?” Tyrion asked as he brought his mount up in between them, with Torrhen on his left and his mother on the right.

“What were you talking about?” Torrhen inquired, hoping to gain further understanding of the madness which inspired his mother.

“Well, Torrhen, your mother has it on good authority that the dagger used to attack your brother belonged to me. Previously it belonged to one Petyr Baelish, the Master of Coin on King Robert’s Small Council. He told your mother that I won the dagger from him after the tourney on my nephew Joffrey’s name day last year. According to Baelish, he lost it after wagering on my brother who was riding against Ser Loras Tyrell, whom I wagered on. A very good story, but with one serious error.” Torrhen recalled the name; the great-grandson of a Braavosi sellsword who served House Corbray, he had been fostered at Riverrun after his father had become friends with Lord Hoster Tully, Torrhen’s grandfather. He had grown up with his mother’s family, earning the nickname ‘Littlefinger’ from his uncle Edmure as reference to his stature and his home on the Fingers, a series of barren rocky peninsulas which made up some of the Vale’s coastline. Apparently, he had been at the center of a great scandal involving a duel with Brandon Stark, his uncle, for his mother’s hand which left him with a terrible scar and expulsion from Riverrun. But, through cunning and guile, he had managed to make something of himself in Robert’s service.

“And what error is that, Lannister?” Lady Catelyn asked, glaring at him. A glare that Tyrion returned with a look of incredible smugness.

“My lady, I _never_ bet against my own family.”


	16. Ascension and Introductions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay in this submission. The last few months have been crazy and finding time to write has been a struggle. So to all those who have waited patiently, thank you I hope you enjoy this latest chapter.

As the sun began its descent towards the horizon, the path finally began to narrow and enter a small valley, forcing the party into a long line, three men wide. Torrhen was between Tyrion and Renly, while Bronn, Ser Rodrik and Ser Willis were placed ahead of them and at the front rode his mother with Ser Donnel and his squire. The minstrel, thankfully, was much further back.

"How much further do we have to travel? Not that I'm complaining, mind you, but I find myself losing feeling in my legs and would like to dismount at our destination with some dignity." Tyrion asked, visibly grimacing after spending so much time in the saddle over so much rough terrain.

"Not much farther, my lord." Ser Donnel replied with authority. "The Bloody Gate is just up ahead." Then, as the party rounded a wide corner and true to Ser Donnel's word, the Bloody Gate came into view. While not impressive to the eyes, the squat fortification was well placed. Any army that tried to take this would be hard pressed for everything favored the defenders, with the surrounding terrain condensing to the narrowest point where the gate and its two towers were built into the mountains themselves. The bridge connecting the towers was lined with archers, bows at the ready, and spearmen. At the tops of the towers stood long poles from which the blue and white banners of House Arryn flew proudly, caught in the evening breeze.

"Halt!" Ser Donnel's command rang out and echoed against the mountains, with the result being the entire company came to complete stop before the gate. For a moment, the rustling of cloaks and banners was the only sound to be heard before a voice called out from the battlements.

"Who would pass the Bloody Gate?!"

"Ser Donnel Waynwood, Knight of Ironoaks, and company. Escorting Lady Catelyn Stark and company to the Eyrie." The call was followed by silence.

"Stand to!" With that command, the guards adopted a more relaxed posture and the gate began to rise. Once the gate was fully raised, with a wave of Ser Donnel's hand, the company moved across the threshold. Once they had crossed under, the gate slowly closed behind them with a resounding thud.

"Company, dismount!" Ser Donnel's call was followed several loud sighs of relief from his men and began to lower themselves from their mounts and disperse. With grimaces, Torrhen and the others climbed down as well with Torrhen moving over to help his mother down and then help Ser Rodrik who looked worse for wear.

"While I am happy to see you again, my dear niece, you could have at least written before now." A figure descending nearby stairwell called out to them in the same voice as the one from the battlements. Tall and lean with a craggy face, deeply lined and wind-burnt beneath a shock of stiff grey hair, he looked like a seasoned veteran encased within his suit of grey heavy plate armor and covered by a cloak in the colors of House Tully with an obsidian clasp in the shape of a trout around his neck, there was no mistaking just who this was. A man whose deeds had turned him into a living legend.

His great-uncle Ser Brynden Tully. The Blackfish.

"Uncle Brynden!" His mother's cry of joy brought a smile to Torrhen's face as he watched her stride over and embrace him tightly. "I would have sent word but there was no time."

"The important thing is that you are safe, although I must inquire as to why you have Tywin Lannister's son in your party."

"I'm afraid it's a long story, good ser. One that I think would be preferable over a hot meal and some good wine." Tyrion said wistfully.

"I have to agree with him, uncle. We could all use some food and drink." Torrhen called out as he rubbed behind Rhaegar's ears.

"A warm bed would also be appreciated, if it wouldn't be too much to ask." Renly added with a slight grin. A sentiment which was soon shared by the others, before Ser Rodrik let out a groan and slowly sank to his knees before being caught under the arms by Ser Willis.

"This man needs a maester now!" He called out as Torrhen rushed over to support him and Ser Brynden called out to his men to fetch the septon and to bring him his horse.

"Septon? He needs medicine, uncle, not prayer." Catelyn shouted.

"Maester Colemon is under orders from your sister not to leave the Eyrie. She's…concerned for her son's health."

"Is there anyone here who _can_ help?" Torrhen called out.

"The septon here is somewhat skilled in medicine. Ser Rodrik will be in good hands."

"I will stay with him, my lord, and we will join you when he has regained his strength." Ser Willis said as he and Torrhen handed him over to two men who carried him into the fort. With nods of thanks from Torrhen and Lady Catelyn, Ser Willis followed them inside.

"Ser Donnel, I'm leaving you in command of the Gate until I return from the Eyrie. I will be accompanying my niece's party."

"Very good, Ser Brynden. Safe journey to you all." With a final bow, he and his squire departed while Ser Brynden mounted his horse with the others.

"Now, my dear niece, we must make haste to the Gates of the Moon. As for the long story, lord Tyrion, perhaps you and my niece can tell me while we ride. I'm sure it will be an enthralling story."

"Trust me, uncle Brynden. You don't know the half of it." Torrhen lamented as the party rode off into the Vale, the fading sunlight in the west turning the clouds an ominous shade of red.

(-)

Torrhen never wanted to leave this bathtub. Ever. All the dirt, grime, blood and soreness of the last few days had melted away and all that was left was a simple feeling of peace and comfort. Even the pain in his chest from the slingshot impact had regressed into a dull ache. But even as he relaxed, his mind drifted back to their arrival at the Gates of the Moon; to say Ser Brynden was astonished by the story given to him was an understatement. Some comfort came from his uncle's agreement with him that while the Lannister's may have been responsible for both Jon Arryn's death and the attempt on Bran's life, it was highly doubtful that Tyrion had taken any part in either. However, the mood soured when he followed by saying that it might not matter to aunt Lysa whether he was innocent or not. When Torrhen asked why, he explained that the lords of the Vale were furious over the suspicious death of the much-loved Lord Jon and King Robert's decision to give the title of Warden of the East to Jaime Lannister. Also, the death of her husband and the stillborn and miscarried children before had left Lysa unstable and hysterically protective of her only surviving child. Before he could press further, Lord Nestor Royce and his daughter Myranda greeted them at the gates and ushered them in. After their horses were tended to and they were supplied with food and drink, a raven arrived from the Eyrie commanding Lady Catelyn to ascend to the summit without delay. Despite protests from both her son and uncle about climbing up a mountain in the dark, she resolved to comply with her sister's orders. And so, escorted by a tall, young woman named Mya Stone with short hair as black as coal and eyes of deep blue, she set off into the darkness without even the benefit of torchlight, Torches, Mya had said, could blind one traveling the paths on a clear night and she knew the path better than anyone. Atop the battlements, Torrhen watched them until they disappeared into the darkness. Even after that he remained standing there, looking up towards the Giant's Lance, until Rhaegar's gentle nudging of his hand turned his thoughts to more pressing matters…such as a bath. Which brought him back to the present, as he noticed the water had slowly decreased from steaming hot to pleasantly warm. He couldn't complain, though, as he closed his eyes and submerged his head. A bath was a bath and he would enjoy this one thoroughly for the time being, followed by sleep in the nice large bed that lay in the next room of his quarters. As he broke the surface, slowly exhaling, his mind returned to the mountain guide. Something about her seemed so…familiar. A sudden rapping on the door shook him from his pondering.

"Enter." Torrhen turned his head and saw the commanding figure of his uncle enter the room. "Good evening, uncle." Rhaegar rose and padded over to him, nuzzling his hand.

"And a good evening to you as well, my boy. I was beginning to worry you had drowned in there."

"Worse ways to die. How's everyone else?" He asked as he rose from the bath, grabbing a nearby towel and walking behind a nearby screen to dry off and don his sleeping clothes.

"Drunk, last time I looked. Lord Tyrion had Ser Renly thoroughly in his cups and that sellsword, Bronn, was just starting yet another bawdy rendition of The Dornishman's Wife. The minstrel was already passed out, gods be thanked."

"Lovely. I hope he's still in key." He grinned as he hung up his towel and walked into the bedroom. There, on top of a table next to the bed, lay a set of fresh clothes for tomorrow. On the bed lay Dark Sister.

"Actually, he was. He's quite talented for one so…rough around the edges. You keep quite interesting company, especially Lord Tyrion."

"Interesting is one word to describe him, uncle. Another would be innocent."

"As I said before, I believe you, but I am not Lord of the Vale." He said with a somber tone, as if knowing that tomorrow's meeting would not end well. Torrhen heard this in his voice and grimaced as he sat down and held Dark Sister in his hands, gripping the hilt tightly while Rhaegar sat by his feet.

"Uncle Brynden, do you think there could be war?"

"It's possible. Once we arrive at the Eyrie, I will send word to Riverrun to prepare themselves. But since your grandfather is ill, the safety of the Riverlands will fall to your uncle Edmure. A good man, but I fear he might be in over his head."

"Is Aunt Lysa in over her head, too? My mother never talked much about her."

"Perhaps that was for the best." He muttered as he sat down beside him, clasping his shoulder tightly. "She has changed a great deal. As a child, she was a shy, delicate thing. A dreamer. She would have fits of giggles when she couldn't finish a sentence. I remember how she used to come to me to talk whenever her father was busy or her mother was ill. She, along with your mother and uncle and even Baelish, would tell me everything: problems and stories, triumphs and tragedies. Those…those were good days. But now, after all those years in King's Landing…somedays I don't even recognize her. I've done my best to help her, but I fear that it's a losing battle on my part. Especially now."

"I'm sorry, uncle."

"You're hardly to blame, my boy. Don't burden yourself with things over which you have no power. Makes you grow old far too quickly."

"I'll try to remember that."

"I hope you do, Torrhen. Now, I must wish you a good night. Tomorrow we have a long journey and you'll need your strength."

"Can't wait. Sleep well, uncle." With a final comforting squeeze he rose and departed. When he heard the door close, he sighed and released a deep breath which failed to expel his anxiety and trepidation. Rising and leaning Dark Sister against the table, he cast off his robe, turned down the covers and crawled into bed. Patting the covers, Rhaegar jumped up at his command and laid down beside him. Despite his exhaustion forcing him to sleep, one question came to him and stayed with him for the entire night.

' _What will I have to do to save Tyrion?_ '

(-)

Morning came far too soon for Torrhen as he stood in the stables, stroking Swiftwind's mane while waiting for the rest of the party. Sleep, when it finally came, was filled with troubling thoughts. A storm cloud had formed around his mind and would allow no relaxation. This resulted in him feeling unfocused and afraid. Which are not good feelings to have before climbing a mountain.

"I wish you could come with us, boy. But these mountains are no place for you." Swiftwind shoved his head against his chest in protest. "I know, I know. I don't like it any more than you do. But Tyrion needs my help to get out of this mess. Now I want you to behave yourself while I am gone, alright?" With his question, he pulled an apple from his cloak which Swiftwind gleefully devoured. "Good boy." With a final stroke of his mane, he walked out of the stables into the courtyard. Bracing himself against the cold, he walked to the postern gate and stared out toward the dense forest that lay beyond. Looking upward, he watched as the path slowly disappeared into the morning clouds. Rhaegar slowly nudged his hand as if attempting reassurance. It wasn't helping, but Torrhen silently thanked him for trying.

"Your conversation was sorely missed at breakfast." Tyrion called out as he joined him by the gate, followed by Bronn, Renly and the minstrel whose name he learned was Marillion. Torrhen couldn't help but smirk at Renly gently cradling his head. No doubt it was throbbing from the incredible headache brought on by last night's antics. His smirk continued as he watched Marillion hold his bandaged ribs with his uninjured hand.

"I hope you can forgive me for that, my friend. I had a restless night, wondering what my aunt will do when we get up there; will she call for your head when we enter the High Hall or will she let you at least have a moment to make your case?"

"That all depends on what mood she is in and how well you behave yourselves." Ser Brynden exclaimed as he joined them. "If you can stay in her graces, then there may be a chance."

"Knowing Lady Arryn, why don't I try to coax blood from a stone while I'm at it?" Tyrion said, grimacing up at the summit.

"That would be quite a sight, my lord." Renly muttered, patting himself down as if trying to remember whether he had left anything in his room or not. Bronn remained silent, his eyes looking upwards.

"A good morning to you all!" The booming voice of Nestor Royce rang out as he entered the courtyard flanked by his son Albar, with his broad shoulders and fierce black side whiskers, and his daughter Myranda, a short and buxom woman who had curly brown hair and a lusty twinkle in her eyes. "I just wanted to wish you well before you departed."

"Thank you, Lord Nestor. Your hospitality was much appreciated. I can only hope to repay you in the future." Torrhen said, clasping his arm.

"Think nothing of it. It's the least I can do for Lady Arryn's nephew. Now while I cannot promise that she will be in the best of moods when you arrive at the Eyrie, I can promise you that Mya will see you safely there. Ah, here she comes now."

"Good morning, my lords." Mya called out as she passed through the gate, with a nod to the party members and a deep bow to Lord Nestor who nodded in response before turning and walking back inside with his children. In the morning light, Torrhen was quite impressed by what he saw. In her mail and leather outfit, she looked quite handsome. In one of Sansa's best dresses, she would look stunning. And there was still the feeling of familiarity. "I hope you are all rested and fed. We have a long journey ahead of us and you will need your wits about you."

"Have no fear, my lady. I have wits in abundance, so much so that if asked politely I would be happy to share with my companions."

"Very well, but please don't call me 'my lady'. Mya will do." She said as she was handed a bowl of porridge by a servant. "I'm no lady." She stated plainly before tucking in to her breakfast.

"Of course, m…Mya." Torrhen said, catching himself. "How was your journey last night? Is my mother alright?"

"Your mother is fine, Lord Stark." She said between mouthfuls. "She did quite well for her first time, though she did decide to take the basket near the end."

"The basket?"

"At Sky, the last way castle, we can go no further with the mules. Travelers must either ascend by the handholds and ramps directly to the cellar or by using the supply baskets which are lifted straight up."

"Not a bad way to get up." Bronn mused.

"If you are a sack of turnips. No, my dear. If I go, I go with my dignity intact. I am a Lannister and shall do no less." Tyrion declared, puffing out his chest.

"Well, there you have it." Torrhen said.

"Indeed. Now listen up, because I'm only saying this once. Once we get past Stone, the weather will make the journey more difficult that higher we climb, so we will go in single file. Stay in sight of each other and close to the mountainside. And remember this; when I give a command, you listen. On these paths, my word is law. Understand?" With nods for everyone, she handed her now empty bowl to the same servant and told him to have the mules brought out and loaded up. With a nod, the young man ran to the stables and a short time later, a train of six brown mules emerged from the stables. Each mule in the train was tied to the others with a five-foot-long rope. "Alright, I will take the lead. Lord Torrhen will walk behind me, followed by Ser Renly, Lord Tyrion, the sellsword and the songbird with the Blackfish taking up the rear." With a final nod of confirmation, Mya turned and led the way through the gate. As they neared the goat trail, Renly gasped.

"Torrhen, look!" Upon raising their heads the party saw the clouds give way and, as if by magic, the Eyrie was revealed to them. Torrhen's eyes widened: He knew of the Eyrie in books, maester Luwin's lessons and had even seen drawings of it, but nothing could prepare him for the sight before him. Seven slim, white towers bunched tightly together on the summit of the Giant's Lance. "Incredible. Simply incredible." Renly declared in a breathless tone.

"It is indeed, Ser Renly. Nothing like anything you would see in the Crownlands. They say that even without the way-towers, no army could ever take the Eyrie by force. It's completely impregnable."

"Impregnable, my arse." Bronn scoffed. "Give me ten good men and some climbing spikes, and I'll impregnate the bitch." At this Tyrion turned and looked at Bronn with a grin.

"I knew there was a reason why I liked you."

(-)

As the climbers warmed themselves by the great fire in the Crescent Chamber, Torrhen couldn't decide whether his frozen fingers or chapped face hurt more. The journey to the Eyrie was something not to be taken lightly and he found himself respecting the endurance of the knights of the Vale in such conditions. After an uneventful climb to Stone, the winds began to pick up, whipping up the hair and cloaks of the men as they made their way to Snow on fresh mules. Slowly they moved up the steep path, keeping close to the walls and trying to avoid looking down. Before long, the wind picked up a savage bite with a heavy snowfall as an accompaniment. By the time they reached the way-tower, mules, men and wolf were all thoroughly covered by a thick white layer of snow. After an hour of warming themselves by the fireplace, they continued towards Sky with another train of mules. This was the most treacherous part of the journey with the path being completely exposed to the elements and the ground cracked and broken from the constant freezing but thanks to Mya's experience and confidence, the party kept pace. When they finally arrived, it was almost midday and a minor miracle that any of them could still move. To their credit, though, no one complained. Except for Marillion, of course. From there, the final six hundred feet was all on foot, with handholds in the walls leading up to the undercellar where servants awaited them with thick blankets, wine and bowls of hot stew. Rhaegar, to his credit, rode up the basket and arrived shortly before they did , to Torrhen's relief. As feeling returned to his hands and face, his mind returned to his meeting with Lysa Arryn; he had never met her before and despite everything that he had been told, he thought that there was a small chance that she would see reason. The creaking of hinges on opening doors brought him back to the present. A troupe of finely dressed servants entered to take their bowls and cups. Behind them stood Ser Vardis, stoic and humorless as ever, flanked by two guards adorned in the colors of House Arryn.

"My lords, Lady Arryn will see you now." As they rose, giving their blankets to the servants, Mya wished them well before turning towards the undercellar.

"You're not coming with us?" Torrhen asked.

"I have no business in the affairs of lords and knights. May the gods be with you all." With a bow, she turned and made her way down the steps. Torrhen silently prayed for her safe trip back down to the Gates of the Moon before joining the others being led by Ser Vardis to the High Hall. The corridors were strangely quiet, with not even the murmurs and whispers of servants being heard. Upon reaching the doors to the High Hall, they saw the seneschal waiting for them flanked by another pair of guards.

"Greetings, Ser Vardis." A curt nod was his response. "Ser Brynden, welcome back. May I have the names of these men?"

"This is my great-nephew Lord Torrhen of House Stark and his companions; Ser Renly of House Darkwood, Lord Tyrion of House Lannister and Bronn of House…?" He finished with raised eyebrows

"Nobody in particular." Bronn replied, followed by a snort and scratching his ass.

"And Marillion, a minstrel." He finishing the introduction with a look of minor annoyance which the others shared and Marillion remained oblivious to.

"Very well. Follow me." The seneschal turned and gestured to the guards who pushed the doors open and led the way into the High Hall. As they walked in, Rhaegar beside him, Torrhen found himself awed by the sight before him. The hall was long with walls made of blue-veined white marble with narrow, arched windows to let in the sunlight. Between the windows were fixed sconces made from either iron or silver upon which blazing torches were set. And at the far end, the hall opened into a circular chamber with stairs wrapping around the walls towards a platform with the stairs continuing to chambers located higher up. The wall to the right had two bronze doors standing between two slender pillars. The doors were emblazoned with the crescent moon and falcon of the Arryn's. Next to the right pillar, a large wheel was set into the wall which could be used to retract the doors. ' _That must be the Moon Door,_ ' Torrhen thought to himself before returning his sight to the platform. Upon it sat a throne carved from the wood of a weirwood tree, upon the throne sat Lysa Arryn and upon Lysa's lap sat a young boy…breastfeeding, to Torrhen's shock. To Lysa's right stood Catelyn, whose face showed both dismay at the state of her sister and nephew and relief at the sight of her son. He could see the differences right away; whereas his mother could be considered a beauty even after six children, her younger sister looked ten years older and did not carry it well. "My lady, my I present your nephew Lord Torrhen of House Stark and his companions. Lord Tyrion of House Lannister, Ser Renly of House Darkwood, Bronn and Marillion the minstrel." The seneschal announced before bowing and moving aside. Torrhen, Tyrion and Renly bowed politely, Bronn kept his unimpressed posture and Marillion executed an obnoxiously flamboyant bow to better impress the lady of the house. After that, Torrhen and Tyrion stepped forward with Ser Vardis and Ser Brynden behind them while Rhaegar padded along, staying close to Torrhen.

"Aunt Lysa, may I say it is a great pleasure to finally meet you in person. I have heard much of you. And this must be my cousin, Robin. It is a pleasure to meet you as well." Torrhen said politely, attempting to start off on the right foot. As Ser Brynden had said, if she's in a good mood she would be easier to deal with.

"I'm sure it is for you. Look at him, my sweet. This is your cousin, Torrhen. Such a handsome man, but not nearly as handsome as you." She said to the boy, with dried milk crusted around his lips and holding a doll. He looked so…fragile, like a stiff breeze would blow him over. "And look who he brought. It's the bad little man who killed your father."

"Did I? Oh my, I have been a very busy man." Tyrion dripped sarcasm with every word while Ser Brynden sighed in exasperation.

"You will watch that tongue of yours, imp!" She roared, eyes blazing. "Do you see these men? These are the knights of the Vale. They all loved my husband and they would all die for me."

"Any harm comes to me, my lady, and my brother will put that claim to the test." Tyrion said with smug confidence. Suddenly, Robin leapt from his mother's lap.

"You can't hurt us! Tell him, mummy! TELL HIM HE CAN'T HURT US!" His shrieks rang through the chamber. Torrhen and the others flinched while Rhaegar quietly growled.

"Hush. Hush, my love. You know they can't hurt us." Lysa said, cradling his fragile body and stroking his hair. "Look at him, nephew. Isn't he strong and fierce? His father knew, didn't he? Didn't he know, sister?" She turned to look at Catelyn before turning back to him with wide eyes. "Before he died he said to me "the seed is strong". He gripped my arm when he said it. Gripped it so tightly his fingers left bruises. He wanted everyone to know what a good, strong boy he had for a son." "Look at him. The lord of all the Vale and the True Warden of the East."

"I'm sure he'll grow into the role, dear aunt." Torrhen said, trying to keep a straight face. It would be a miracle if this boy could wipe his own ass, let alone come of age and rule one of the Seven Kingdoms.

"Mummy, can we make the bad man fly?" Robin asked, looking towards the Moon Door, in the same manner that a child would ask for another slice of walnut pie.

"The only way you're getting him is through me!" Torrhen cried out, stepping in front of Tyrion with his hand wrapped firmly around Dark Sister's hilt while Rhaegar crouched with his ears flattened and his teeth bared. His snarl made all in the room flinch with the guards assuming a defensive stance.

"And me." Torrhen's gaze shifted to Renly stepping forward to join him. "For anyone who threatens a friend of my lord threatens me." His eyes widened at the conduct of a man who he didn't even know until three days ago, yet he was willing to stand beside him in defiance of his own aunt and cousin.

"You would dare draw steel in my son's presence?!" Lysa cried out, clutching Robin tightly.

"To protect my friend, yes. He has earned my respect and my trust. You are my blood, yet you have earned neither." He said in a cold, steady voice, keeping his gaze solely fixed on his aunt and cousin.

"Sister, please. This man is my prisoner and I will not have harm come to him!" Catelyn said, her voice filled with strength yet lined with fear. Perhaps she was beginning to realize that her control on the situation was slowly slipping through her fingers.

"Very well, sister. Ser Vardis, my sister's guest is tired from his journey. Take him below so that he can rest." A sly grin crossed her face as an idea sprouted in her mind like a weed. "Introduce him to Mord." With a quick nod from Ser Vardis and a wave of his hands, two guards stepped forward to flank Tyrion. Turning to face him, a simple look gave Torrhen some reassurance that everything would be alright as he was led out of the hall through a side door. "And now, dear nephew, you and your companions will be given food and shelter. Bannon, have quarters prepared for our guests." With a nod and a wave of his hand, the party followed the seneschal out. Torrhen left last, with final glare at both his mother and aunt before departing to catch up with his uncle.

"Uncle Brynden, who is Mord?" He asked as the doors shut behind them.

"He's the jailer." At this, Torrhen's blood ran cold.

Tyrion was going to be thrown in the Sky Cells.


	17. Confessions and Frustrations

Torrhen was standing by the window, gazing out over the Vale, when he heard the rapping of knuckles against the door to his chambers.

"Who is it?"

"It's your mother, Torrhen. May I come in?" At the sound of her voice, Torrhen grimaced. He had half a mind to leave her out there, but he knew that he couldn't be angry at her forever. He responded in the affirmative but remained where he was as she entered and the door closed behind her. She appeared to be carrying a tray with plates of food which she set on the table. "We missed you at supper."

"I wasn't hungry."

"I'm glad to see that you are alright. Did you have any difficulties on the ascent?"

"No, mother. The climb was uneventful."

"I'm glad to hear it." "Torrhen, I'm sorry about…"

"About what, mother?! Kidnapping my friend, nearly getting him killed or leaving him to the mercy of a madwoman breastfeeding a boy older than Rickon?!" He yelled, whipping around. "He has done nothing at all to deserve this! Nothing!"

"Torrhen, the Lannisters…"

"Tried to kill my brother and murdered Jon Arryn, yes, but why Tyrion? Do you have proof that he was involved or is it because he's the only one you could get?" Catelyn's silence seemed to all but confirm that suspicion. "Besides, you heard him on the road. He didn't wager against his brother at that tourney which means that either he's lying or Baelish is and at this point, I'm inclined to believe Tyrion."

"Why would Littlefinger lie to me? He's like a brother to me."

"I don't know! He could have an agenda of his own for wanting a conflict and it might have something to with your history together. All I do know is that the two people who could fix this are stuck on this fucking mountain with my lunatic aunt and my spoiled, stunted cousin who couldn't be the lord of a pile of horse shit, much less Lord of the Vale. And one of those people is in prison for crimes he didn't commit!" Finding himself short of breath, Torrhen made himself calm down while he got air back into his lungs. After a few deep breaths, silence followed before he turned to fix his eyes on his mother with a hard glare. "Dammit, mother. I expected more from you."

"Torrhen, I…I'm sorry." Her voice sounded so meek and frail as if overwhelmed by the fury of his words and the realization that she may have indeed made a terrible mistake.

"Sorry won't bring back the dead. Now if you don't mind, mother, I'm very tired. Thank you for bringing supper. I'll have some before I retire." The tone of his voice ended all further conversation and without another word, she slowly walked out of the room with the posture of a child being sent to their room by a disappointed parent. But once the door closed behind her all the anger bubbling inside Torrhen evaporated, leaving him exhausted. Sitting on his bed, head buried in his hands, he marveled at how angry he had been with his mother. He had been upset before, especially when dealing with Jon, but this was new. This…was not like him. It felt wrong and unnatural and all he wanted to do was wrap his mother in an enormous hug and tell her that all was forgiven.

_'But I can't because I'm right,'_  he thought as he looked up to see Rhaegar nuzzling his hands, trying and bring his master some comfort.

"We're in a right mess, aren't we?" With a firm scratch behind the ears, he showed his gratitude before rising and walking over to the table where a large steak and kidney pie lay waiting for him along with a small bowl of white beans and bacon and a small loaf of fresh-baked bread. Suddenly, his stomach growled and a laugh followed as he picked up a nearby knife and cut a slice of pie which he handed to Rhaegar, who devoured it with relish. "I suppose we can't think on empty stomachs now, can we?" He said before sitting down and tucking in. As he ate, his mind worked on a plan to free Tyrion.

(-)

After two days of eating, training and contemplating, Torrhen found himself descending to the Sky Cells. Carrying a small bag with food, skins of wine and water slung over his shoulder, Dark Sister on his belt and Rhaegar at his side, nothing was going to stop him from seeing Tyrion. At the end of the hall, it opened into a small anteroom which contained a small table and a single chair upon which sat Mord. Torrhen's first look at the jailer caused him to involuntarily cringe. His clothes fit poorly over his rotund frame and smelled as if they hadn't been washed in years. His mouth was full of rotten teeth beneath small dark eyes. All of this, combined with a long scar from what remained of his left ear to his nose, painted a truly repulsive image. But what made the hair stand on Torrhen's neck was that this filthy brute was wearing Tyrion's cloak.

"What you want?"

"I'm here to see Tyrion Lannister. Take me to him." Torrhen said in his most commanding tone while drawing himself up to his full height while trying not to succumb to Mord's terrible breath.

"No one sees little dwarf-man. Lady's orders." Mord replied with a chuckle, showing his disgusting teeth in an obnoxious smile.

"Perhaps I didn't make myself clear to you, Mord," Torrhen said, taking a deep breath before grabbing Mord's shirt and slamming him against the wall before drawing in close to his face. "Allow me to repeat myself, you filthy fucking half-wit. I'm here to see Tyrion Lannister. Take me to him _now_." He said the last word through his teeth, bared and clenched. With Rhaegar baring his teeth behind him, Mord couldn't move fast enough down the stairs. At the door, he struggled to locate the proper key until he happened upon it. Showing it with a smile did little to please Torrhen, who continued boring holes through him with his eyes until he unlocked the door. As it swung open it revealed Tyrion huddled by the far-right corner, shivering under a pathetic excuse for a blanket. With a final stinging glare, he shoved Mord aside and strode in. "Sleeping well?" Tyrion stirred and looked up to see him.

"Oh yes." He said, patting the floor which, Torrhen realized, was at a slight incline. "Though, I do have a small issue with the lack of proper furniture. Namely, a decent bed."

"I see," Torrhen replied with suppressed anger as he turned to face Mord, visibly cowed by this young man's fury. "Well, I may not have a bed for you but I do have food and drink. But first, this." Striding over to Mord, he ripped the cloak off his shoulders and he turned to Rhaegar. "Sit and watch him, boy. If he tries to leave or touch my sword, rip his throat out." Unbuckling his sword, he laid it by the door and without another word, he walked in before Mord closed and locked the door.

"Remind me never to get on your bad side, Stark."

"I can't think of any way you could get on my bad side, my friend." He declared before tossing Tyrion his cloak and sitting with his back to the wall.

"Thank you. I enjoy a brisk wind as much as the next man, but this is ridiculous." Wrapping the warm cloak around himself brought visible relief to his face as Torrhen removed and opened his satchel and began pulling out bread, hard cheese, sausages and some honeycakes with buttercream, setting them on the ground between the two men. He then removed the wineskin and handed it to Tyrion, who took several large gulps of House Arryn's finest imported Arbor Gold, while keeping the waterskin over his shoulder.

"My last meal?" Tyrion wondered aloud, passing the wine back and tearing off a piece of bread.

"I just thought you might be hungry. I would imagine Mord's spitting into whatever they give you down here that passes for food."

"Perhaps it's best that some questions remained unanswered." At that, the conversation ceased as the two men ate and drank. "So, how are things with the rest of the world?"

"Terrible. Renly and uncle Brynden do their best to keep me sane, but it's no small task. Ser Rodrik made it up here this morning, though he's been ordered by maester Colemon to refrain from strenuous activity. Bronn is busy draining the wine cellars and our favorite minstrel has all but wormed his way into the service of my aunt."

"What a pity. I was hoping that the young lord would want to see him thrown out the Moon Door." Tyrion mused, tossing another piece of cheese into his mouth and chewing slowly.

"That makes two of us," Torrhen replied sourly, taking a slow pull from the wineskin.

"So, is this the part where you reveal your elaborate plan to get me out of this fucking place?"

"It would be if I had a plan. Every time I tried to think of something, I remember that we're on a mountain in unfamiliar territory, surrounded by not only the knights of the Vale who would drag us back to my dear aunt in chains, savage hill tribes who would kill us for the gold on your fingers and the boots on our feet, but also a variety of animals that would rip our throats out just as a prelude to the main course of our guts."

"So, we're fucked. Yes?"

"In short, yes. We're absolutely fucked." He stated plainly, passing Tyrion the wineskin again.

"Well, what do we do now?"

"I suppose…we wait," Torrhen stated plainly, raising his hand to restrain Tyrion's interruption. "Hear me out. By now, word has probably reached King's Landing about this. King Robert doesn't want two of the most powerful houses in Westeros at each other's throats, especially with winter coming, so he'll probably have word sent here demanding your release. If my aunt has any sense, she will honor a royal command and you and I will go to the capital and sort this whole thing out."

"And if she doesn't?"

"I don't know." Torrhen's shoulders slumped in resignation before standing up and walking to the edge. As he stood there he realized that, as long as he didn't look down, the view was simply incredible. "I wish I knew what's going to happen, but I'm only a man. An angry, scared man who just wants to know when everything went so wrong."

"I suppose this means that we have time."

"Time? For what?"

"Do you remember when you asked me if I had ever been in love before?" At Torrhen's nod, he continued. "Well, I have been. At least, I thought it was love. I must have been…sixteen, I think. Jamie and I had been riding in the countryside around Lannisport, being irresponsible children of nobility. Suddenly, we heard a scream down the trail we were riding and came upon three men accosting a young woman. Jaime chased them off and I took her to a nearby inn for safety. She told me her name was Tysha and that she had left home to find work after her father, a crofter, had passed from illness. She was scarcely a year older than I was, dark-haired, slender, with a face that would break your heart. It certainly broke mine. Lowborn, half-starved, unwashed...but she was still lovely. So lovely." A wistful look crossed his face as he allowed himself to bask in the glory of the past, if only for a moment. "As we talked, I found myself drawn in by her smile and laughter, her easy charms and before I knew what I was doing I professed my undying love to her. She laughed, of course, and called me silly. But as she looked into my eyes, something changed in hers and she, in a mixture of laughter and tears, declared her love for me." Tyrion laughed. "It was so stupid. Two children who didn't have the faintest idea of how the world worked falling in love after only a day's worth of words, with the wine helping us in our foolish venture, but it didn't matter. I managed to find a septon so drunk he could barely stand and, with four squealing pigs as witnesses, we were made husband and wife. I found us a little cottage overlooking the Sunset Sea and for two weeks, we knew true happiness. We made love, I read to her and she sang to me. One day, I even made a little picnic basket and we shared it in the shade of a giant elm tree." The wistful look returned, his smile bigger than before. "It's strange, but during those carefree days, I think I understood what my father felt when he married my mother and…and what he lost when she died."

"That's wonderful," Torrhen whispered, marveling at how simple and perfect it all seemed to be. "So, what happened to her?" The change of Tyrion's face to reflect such bitterness and anger was so sudden it startled Torrhen.

"Well, that's where my story takes an unpleasant turn. Turns out the septon who married us, after sobering up, realized what he had done and went to my father to confess his transgression to save his own neck. I found this out when I returned to our cottage and found my brother standing outside with a most morose look on his face. I asked him what was wrong and where was Tysha. He told me that she was with our father. I was horrified, thinking some terrible fate awaited her. That when he told me that…she was a whore. He had paid her and the men attacking her to set me up to become a man. I couldn't believe him, so I rode hard back to Casterly Rock. I found her in the barracks, covered in a sheet and surrounded by at least a dozen men-at-arms. I looked at her and she couldn't meet my eyes and the whole world just seemed to crumble in front of me. He told the men that they should pay her one silver stag each for her services and then they…they…" Torrhen's teeth were clenched and his eyes were filled with anger as he watched Tyrion struggle with his words, silently pleading for him to stop. But Tyrion somehow managed to force down the bile in his throat and continue. "By the time they were finished, she had so much silver that it was falling through her fingers to clatter on the floor. Then, as if it wasn't enough, he made me go last and told me to give a gold dragon. He said it was because Lannisters were worth more. Afterwards, she was given a robe and taken out of the room by two servants. I never saw her again." After he finished, the howling wind was all that could be heard and Torrhen could feel his eyes watering.

"What…kind of a man does that his own child?"

"The kind of man who wants to teach his foolish son a lesson about protecting the family, or at least its image. A family that marries whores is a family to be mocked and ridiculed and my father will not have that. To him, House Lannister is a family to be respected and even feared throughout the Seven Kingdoms. It is that or nothing."

"And to teach that lesson he must destroy any love you might have for him?"

"I've never had much love for him and he doesn't trust such feelings, except for those he had for my mother. To him, love is just another thing that can be exploited by your enemies. My grandfather wanted to be loved by everyone, which made it easier for everyone to take advantage of him."

"Even so, if any man were to do that to me I think I would kill them."

"Don't worry, my friend. Just remember that a Lannister always pays his debts."

"In gold or blood?"

"That depends on who's paying the debt."

"I suppose it does." His agreement was followed by a silent call to justice against Tywin Lannister, a man who would receive no honor or respect from him whatsoever. "Well, I suppose I should be going. I'm meeting with Renly for some sparring. I hope you enjoy the rest of the food and drink. There should be enough to last at least two days if you're careful, but I'll make sure that Mord doesn't touch any of it. Here's water, in case the wine runs out." He said, laying the waterskin next to the wall before pounding on the door. "I might not be able to come by for the next few days so when I get the chance, tell me if he's giving you any trouble."

"I will, and thank you for this. It's not easy to find real friends in the world these days."

"Indeed," Torrhen said as the door swung open. "Stay strong, my friend. This is not the end for you."

"I certainly hope not." With a final nod exchanged, Torrhen marched through the door with a backward glance, grabbing his sword and silently calling Rhaegar to follow him up the stairs to the anteroom. As he heard the door shut and lock, followed by the jingle of Mord's keys, he waited patiently by the table for him to waddle up the stairs and stand in front of him. "Sit down, Mord." As the jailer took his seat, never breaking eye contact, Torrhen buckled his sword belt and stood over him. "Let me make this as plain as possible so that even you can understand it. If anything happens to Tyrion Lannister, and I mean anything, you will answer to me. If I find that he has been abused or mistreated in any way, I will personally throw you off one of those ledges. Do you understand me?" Visibly shaking, Mord nodded to which Torrhen smiled widely while not bothering to hide the threatening glare in his eyes. "Good. I'm glad we can reach an understanding of this situation. Good day." With an all too firm clap on his shoulder, he strolled out of the room without a second thought. Though he did allow himself an even bigger grin at the sounds of Rhaegar growling followed by Mord's pathetic whimpering.

(-)

"Good, good! Keep it up, Torrhen, but don't overreach!" Ser Rodrik's words carried over the ringing of steel in the armory as Torrhen and Renly locked their blades. Torrhen tried to keep his form but frustration over the events of the last few days was breaking his focus as the hours passed. Before long, with his mind elsewhere and his grip too loose, Renly knocked the sparring sword from his hand before landing a solid blow on his stomach, leaving him winded and on his knees, in a move that he should have seen coming if he had been in form.

"Are you alright?!" Renly asked, helping him to his feet.

"I'm alright. I just got careless and you got lucky." He exclaimed in between coughs. "Won't make that same mistake again, I promise you." He sat down on a nearby bench, allowing himself a moment's respite, joined by Renly who began massaging his shoulders.

"I certainly hope so. If that had been a real blade, you would have been busy trying to keep your intestines in and would never hear the end of it from your mother, Gods bless her. I thought I taught you better." Ser Rodrik called out, slightly wincing with each step.

"You did, and I'm sorry. It's just…I've got far too much on my mind."

"Worried about your father?"

"I'm worried about all of them. Not just Father and the girls, but everyone who went with him." Torrhen said, running his fingers through his hair and rubbing his face, realizing he had gone a while without a decent shave.

"They'll be fine, my lord. Remember, they've got my Jory watching out for them so there's nothing to worry…" A nearby door swung open and through it emerged Mother and Uncle Brynden. Torrhen and Renly stood up. "Lady Stark, Ser Brynden." Ser Rodrik nodded to them both, but the look on her face stopped all three of them cold. "Is everything alright?"

"Mother, what's happened?" His question caused his mother's stern composure to crack slightly before breaking entirely as she threw her arms around Ser Rodrik and began sobbing. "Gods, what happened?!"

"Your father's been attacked." Uncle Brynden declared, with made Torrhen's legs almost give out. "He and his men were ambushed by the Kingslayer and his men and he took a spear in the leg while Ser Jamie has left the city. The maester in the Red Keep said he's unconscious but he should recover. The others…the others are dead. One of them was some poor bugger named Jory." At the mention of the name Torrhen grimaced, remember the promise Jory gave to him that he would keep his father safe at the crossroads. No further sounds were made except the gentle sobs and apologies of his mother to Rodrik, who returned her embrace.

"He was Ser Rodrik's nephew. He was captain of my father's guards and a friend." Ser Brynden's face fell at that bit of news. The loss of kin was never a pleasant thought for anyone.

"I'm so sorry." Torrhen nodded in response to Renly before silently replacing his sword and walking out of the armory to his room. He knew this would happen. He knew that the Lannisters would make their displeasure known at Tyrion's abduction and they had done so by drawing first blood. In the streets of the capital, no less. As he entered his room, Rhaegar sat patiently waiting on the bed next to Dark Sister. Faintly smiling at his companion, he made his way to the window and looked out on the Vale and marveled at how peaceful the world could be in one small corner while the rest of it was going straight to hell.

**Author's Note:**

> A Song of Ice and Fire and Game of Thrones are the property of George R.R. Martin and HBO.
> 
> Please read, review and enjoy!


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